strong woman, spring breeze
by TheAravis
Summary: It's almost illogical, how he can do such horrible things but still seem exactly how he used to be. Or, how two broken people fall in love. (Matt Engarde/Adrian Andrews)
1. strong woman

This is absolutely the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. I apologize in advance.

Also, there's a thing where Adrian's and Matt's names are never really said, so if you're getting confused by pronouns, it's probably referring to one of them.

* * *

(warning for canon character death, canon suicide, and canon suicide attempt, as well as explicit sex)

* * *

Matt Engarde (in response to being shown Adrian Andrews' profile): That's my manager. Did you meet her? What did you think? Strong woman, right? And she takes good care of me...

* * *

When Celeste falls in love with him, she falls a little bit in love with him, too.

It's odd, because she knows the one she really cares about is Celeste; the woman she loves more than anything else is Celeste. But the tightness in her chest she thought she'd feel - it doesn't come when Celeste falls in love with someone else.

It's like this: With him, Celeste is happier than she's ever seen her. With him, Celeste shines brighter than she did the days she'd never met him (the days she'd been with her). And with him... Celeste won't fall in love with her.

But her world doesn't fade to gray when he envelops Celeste's world in vibrant color. Instead, it all spills over. Celeste's happiness becomes her own. Every word she gushes about how truly perfect her boyfriend is, about how for the first time she actually feels as if she's loved, she feels Celeste's emotion, sharp as electricity running through her body.

The first time she meets him, his arm wrapped around the woman she loves, she sees it, exactly what Celeste is always talking about: the kindness in the curve of his smile, the softness behind his wide eyes, the halo barely visible in the wisps of hair covering his face, and her mind floods with understanding. When she sees the tenderness with which he holds Celeste, she thinks how it must be impossible to regard him with anything resembling hate. After all, the look on Celeste's face while she's in his arms... it makes her heart burst.

The days she spends with them, when the actor and his manager are always hand in hand, looking no different to her than a prince and a princess... Those days are the purest happiness she's ever known.

* * *

"I don't know, I guess I just got tired of it."

He's swishing chocolate milk in a wine glass as frustration starts to leak out her eyelids. She wants to- she wants to- she wants to fight him, to wring his neck, to drive a knife through his heart and feel the blade pierce his skin. She-

She hears him sigh and the clink of a glass being placed on a coffee table. His face contorts into something in the vicinity of sympathy. "Look, dude," he says, leaning forward, "sorry if Celeste's upset, but it wasn't a big thing. I don't know what made you guys think it was. It was a couple of dates, not like we were gonna get married or something..."

A "couple of dates"... What a way to describe the most wonderful six months of Celeste's life. Her bones ache with fury, but at the same time...

He's not really... different. After everything, he still seems like God's favorite angel. What he's done hasn't erased the halo shining in his hair or the softness of his smile; somewhere, in the back of her mind, an unwelcome feeling of loyalty tugs at her.

(Wasn't it the same man who filled Celeste with so much happiness that it overflowed into her?)

But, the rational part of her mind says, past actions can't erase current misdeeds. She needs something from him now, not something from him a week ago. In a low croak, she asks him, "How- How could you just toss her away like that?"

But he's barely listening. She watches him take a swig from the glass he'd been fiddling with before, his face completely vacant of emotion, save the flash of pity she sees flit through his eyes. The hopeful part of her dies.

"Adrian, _we_ weren't dating. Right? So you gotta chill out with..." He gestures at her vaguely, the milk in his glass sloshing around as he moves. "This."

She can't find the words to explain it, how Celeste's happiness defines her own, how Celeste's happiness is _more important_ than her own, but more than anything... she realizes that she doesn't want to. He's... empty. Or closed. There's nothing she can get from the man who played a key role in the happiest part of her life. All of this, asking to speak to him here, asking him about Celeste; it was a mistake.

She stands, her chair creaking on the floorboards of his dressing room when it moves. In the most solid voice she can manage, she says, "You're right. I should go. I... apologize for this."

"Don't worry about it, dude. And hey, you're a manager, too, right? Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

She nods in response, thinking to herself there's nothing she'd prefer to never seeing him again.

(But, as she glances back at him and sees the smile on his face, a part of her starts to wonder.)

When Celeste starts dating Juan, the first thing she thinks is that that outcome is probably what he would have hated the most. She's... happy about that. Actually, at the beginning, she thinks that maybe that's exactly why Celeste started dating Juan, but it's a foolish thought to entertain.

Juan made advances on Celeste first. This is something she knows more than anyone else; the sinking feeling in her heart when she'd first found about his flirtations and the iron she tastes in her mouth when she sees him afterwards aren't sensations easily forgotten.

Time turns bitterness and sadness into hate, and she finds herself resenting Juan for a thousand and Juan reasons. There's that he'd flirted with Celeste ceaselessly, not even acknowledging the hundreds of times she's said she wasn't ready for a relationship. To wear someone down... It's an artless and disrespectful way to make a woman fall in love. (Never mind that it's more than she's ever done.) Not to mention the fact that he's an actor, one that could just as easily be using Celeste like she's been used before. She knows her suspicions aren't unfounded; his ambition is obvious. When he waxes bitterly on his lack of fame, she hears him.

But there's something else, too. She can still see him in the back of her mind, saying everything he's ever said about Juan Corrida. She hears it all again, his countless disparaging comments directed at a rival that wasn't even there, but there's one thing he said that resonates above all the others: "He's okay, but it's not like he's the real thing."

See, the thing is, she knows it's irrational and that his opinion at this point should be worth less than nothing, but can you really expect her to quiet an assenting voice? "Okay" sounds like the perfect word to describe Juan; his subpar wooing, his subpar acting, his subpar personality. He's like the number one; something, but a something that is as close as it can possibly be to nothing.

Then, over dinner the day after Celeste's birthday, months into her and Juan's relationship, Celeste diverts a conversation about shared memories and inconsequential jokes to a confession: She finally believes that she can trust Juan with her heart, despite the bad experiences she's had in the past. She says she's known for a while that she'd fallen in love again, but that it had just been the day before that she decided she was okay with it.

She sees Celeste's shining eyes, the tiny smile she can't hold back, and the crinkle of her nose, and she's entranced.

Somehow, this changes everything. (Or rather, _of course_ this changes everything.)

The cheesy lines he'd fed Celeste that used to fill her with icy fury replay in her mind under a different light. This time, she really hears those words he's said: him calling Celeste the most beautiful woman he's ever had the pleasure of seeing, him saying that a heart as kind as Celeste's was something he didn't know still could survive in the world, him trying to figure out why a woman so capable was wasting her time on managing him… These compliments, she realizes, are nowhere near as meaningless as she used to think; these compliments made Celeste feel good and useful and wanted in a way she knows she could never make her feel.

It's healthy for her in a hundred ways, and she knows Celeste isn't stupid, especially since she's been burned once already. She cares too much about Celeste to oppose her relationship with Juan just because she loves her too.

So, slowly and reluctantly, she begins to trust Juan and his intentions, and when Celeste calls her and tells her about her and Juan's engagement, she starts to think she's made the right decision.

When she, days later, finds out that Juan canceled the wedding because he found out Celeste was used and tossed to the corner by his rival, she knows she hasn't.

("Juan Corrida? I mean, he's okay, but it's not like he's the real thing.")

* * *

When Celeste's life ends, her world ends.

When Celeste's life ends, her life is supposed to end.

It doesn't.

Hours after she should've died, she wakes up in a hospital room a sickly mess. An older woman - her mother, she realizes, somewhere in her mind - sees her and starts to weep, and she realizes that she's living a worst-case scenario.

Arms wrap around her and she feels like she should feel whole, but she doesn't. There's no warmth here, not in this blurry world where she's caged in her body, incomplete. Faintly, she hears the sound of desperation coming out of her captor, the words not coming together. It's... _something_ , the woman wants her to do _something_ , but the rest is a garbled mess. Her mind isn't working right ( _nothing's been working right since Celeste disappeared_ ) and she wants it to end but her mother won't release her, won't stop talking. She wants to scream but she knows no sound will come out.

She fumbles for a way out, nodding, telling the woman she'll do what she wants her to, doing her best to make eye contact despite unfocused vision. She needs it all to stop.

It doesn't.

This is what hell must be like.

* * *

"Adrian Andrews! What a coincidence, huh? I never thought I'd see you again, dude. 'Specially since you and Celeste pulled that disappearing act after we broke up. Guess I don't blame you, though."

His hand is on her shoulder, and it's all she can do not to push it off and ask him to never touch her again. She notes to herself that she needs to get used to this, despite all he's done. Or rather, _because_ of all he's done.

Living for revenge isn't easy, and she's not so sure her counselor would have been proud of it if she'd known, but in the end, it's still living. It's been six months since Celeste died, and it's been a week since she decided that she needs to find justice for the woman she loves ( _loved_ ). If she doesn't, she can't imagine ever being able to face Celeste again.

After all, she can remember it like it was yesterday (and oh, how badly she wishes it was yesterday, that day when Celeste was still alive), the way her phone rang at midnight the night Celeste was out of town with her fiancé.

 _Adrian, Adrian... I love you._ Hearing those words... She remembers how _wrong_ it felt, to hear the words she's always wanted to hear from Celeste in a voice rife with such despair. It had rendered her speechless. _I should've known you were the only one I could trust. Matt, he... he told Juan about what happened between us and... It's not happening anymore. I think I'm cursed. I think I might have to be alone forever._

Of course she won't be alone forever, she'd wanted to say. Of course she'd die before she left her behind, before she'd do anything to hurt her. But there'd been a tension in her voice that made her hesitate.

 _Matt... He's going to ruin my life. I don't know if I can handle being hurt like this again. Whatever he said to Juan... Juan won't listen! He won't even try to understand me! I hate him, too, Adrian! I hate him, too! What a horrible world we live in, where someone like Matt Engarde can run around successful and worshiped by people who know nothing about him while people like us have nothing... Where's the good in this world? What's the point of trying to make it in a world where it's impossible for us to succeed?_ Celeste was sobbing now, and without thinking, she began to speak. She needed her to stop it, to stop her from spiraling into such horrible, cynical thinking.

 _It's- It's you. You're the good in this world, you're the reason we have to try every day. We live so one day we get to meet people- people like you._

For a while, there'd been a lengthy silence, the kind that could fill up a room. Just when she realized what she had said and fear started to grip her, she was interrupted.

Celeste was laughing the worst kind of laugh, her voice thick with sadness. _You've always been there for me, haven't you? I should've realized sooner... Adrian..._

She felt her chest swell with hope. _Yes?_

 _Thank you... Thank you for everything... I love you..._ Celeste's voice was bittersweet then... Still not quite how she'd imagined hearing those words, but a better tone than when she'd said them to her before.

For the first time in her life, she'd started to feel whole. She heard her own laughter ring out weakly before she noticed she was laughing. _Y-You said that already!_

 _I know. But please don't forget it._

Then, just as she started to believe she could have what she'd wanted for so long, the line went dead.

It had only been when the news of Celeste's death had reached her that she realized she'd never said "I love you" back.

"Hey, you okay?"

Her mind snaps back to reality. He focuses into view, his hand removed from her shoulder and his brows gently furrowing while he studies her lazily. Her thoughts had gotten her off-task... How irresponsible. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Just asking how you've been, dude. I heard about Celeste." He brings it up so casually, and for a moment, it's like she's back in his dressing room, ready to murder him for tossing away the woman she'd die for. The only remorse visible on his face is a tiny pout, the kind you'd see on a child who didn't get the toy they wanted. She takes a deep breath and reminds herself of her endgame, of how she'll make it so this world is one where people like him can't and won't succeed. Of how she'll make this world a just one, where Celeste would choose to live instead of die.

"I'm fine, but how I'm doing isn't important. We need to leave; you're due at the set by 3."

He laughs. "All business, huh? Guess you're right. Then... let's get going!" he says, grabbing her bare wrist and starting to lead her out of the room.

His hands are cold on her skin.

* * *

When Matt gets his first interview in a real, widely-read magazine, she feels herself lose her footing. It's been a year since she joined Global Studios and requested to be assigned to him, and in that year, she's done exactly nothing to dethrone him. In fact, it'd probably be easy to make a case arguing that she's working against herself.

One year and she's built herself a reputation as a cool-headed, no-nonsense manager, never settling and never letting her client waste a minute of his time. In one year with her, his reputation has skyrocketed; he was famous in the children's TV industry before, but it's only now that most people are starting to know him by his own name rather than "the man in the samurai costume." He's commented on the change himself a few times, telling her that it's because of her that now even people who see him on the street can recognize his huge potential.

This is the problem: she'd ran headfirst into Global Studios, her mind consumed by thoughts of a world Celeste would have loved and absolutely nothing else. The righteous fire that burned inside of her faltered more the longer she stayed with him and the more she realized she had no idea how to actually go about doing any of it. So now, running on a sparse flame, she's here... working against herself.

Really, though, it's not like she has a choice. Trying to ruin him through bad managerial decisions is something that would only end in a quick job termination from Global Studios, and doing that would make everything she's done since Celeste died an exercise in pointlessness. And of course, if she has to do the job, she may as well put everything she has into it; that's something Celeste taught her.

And, after all, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

But that still leaves her with the issue of trying to figure out how exactly she'll bring her wildly successful client to his knees. It's infuriating, her situation, to be standing here with all the pieces and no idea how to put them together. At the same time, though, there's a part of her that wonders if she wants to put the puzzle together at all.

It's the same part that's been tormenting her since she met him, the part that gives credit to his opinions and sees his smile and melts. Before, she'd forgotten about it, Celeste's last words living in her mind, but these days... like she said before, she's losing her footing.

It's almost illogical, how he can do such horrible things but still seem exactly how he used to be. Or... no, if anything, he affects her even more now than when she knew him before. One year with cold, curt Adrian Andrews, and he's never said an unkind (or even passive aggressive) word to her. Even at the beginning of her career with him, when she treated him a little bit icier than she does now, he didn't complain about her once. Not to mention how oddly trusting he's been of her, consulting her on near every decision he makes, and the flat-out compliments he pays her without a second thought. And his ever-present physical gestures of affection... the hand on her shoulder, the grabbing of her wrist, the ruffling of her hair, and the one time he'd even fallen asleep on her on a particularly long flight... She used to detest his touch and his amiability, but now she finds some sort of twisted comfort in it.

Before, she'd deny the existence of these feelings completely, but the day she'd found that tabloid article...

It was... stupid, really. She'd just been buying canned coffee from a newsstand when his name caught her eye on a magazine she'd never heard of before. Out of curiosity, and slightly suspicious that some no-name magazine writer was trying to slander her client, she bought the magazine as well.

The cover boasted an exclusive interview with the Nickel Samurai star. To be completely honest, an interview like that wasn't that big of a deal at that point, but she still had her hand hovering over her phone as she read the magazine, ready to sue them for everything they had. Her suspicions turned out to be unfounded; apparently they'd "caught Matt Engarde on an early morning jog" (which was probably true, as it _was_ a habit he kept) and he'd probably just neglected to mention to her. Unfortunate, but he was forgetful as anything.

She scanned the interview, mostly general stuff about how much he enjoyed being the Nickel Samurai, etc., but a part where they discussed his personal life caught her eye.

 _We've seen you taking quite a few girls up to your room lately. You must be quite the womanizer._  
 _Ha, dude... I mean, if the girls like me, they like me, man. I'm not gonna complain about it._

 _But we've also heard you've broken a lot of hearts. Do you have anything to say about that?_  
 _It's nothing serious... It's just a game, dude. I make them happy, they make me happy, then we're done. Doesn't really mean anything._

She gritted her teeth slightly. A heartless line like that could hurt his child-friendly, "refreshing like a spring breeze" image he'd cultivated so carefully. He really should have thought before he spoke. Luckily, he'd broken his image in a tabloid with zero readership, but she'd have to talk to him later.

As for the girls and the heartbreaking... she knew too much about that. If anyone was going to complain about it, it'd been her. Especially those days they were forced to share a hotel room and he'd ask her to go find somewhere else to stay until he was done "entertaining" them and the times she'd deal with heartbroken or vengeful girls coming up to his room or the studio, out for blood. They never seemed to understand that with a person like him, one night was one night.

But it didn't matter now. She had to find the magazine's reaction and pray it wasn't a condemnation of his behavior. She read on.

 _Are there any women in your life that do mean something to you?_  
 _Yeah, my manager! She's a strong woman... She really takes care of me._

Her cheeks had flushed at this. His kindness was something she'd always written off to him just trying to get her to like him, but that reasoning didn't work on this one. He'd said something kind about her in an interview he never thought she'd know about, even if the line was a little throwaway. Something like that... he'd said it seemingly genuinely, and that fact made some shade of emotion bloom in her... and that emotion definitely wasn't hate. Denying whatever she felt any longer would just be lying, and she... couldn't afford to waste time on that anymore.

Right.

She closed the magazine and sighed.

Some days, she found it hard to live with herself.

( _"No, I didn't mean it like that, dude! Even if I did like her, she's probably the only person in the world who won't swoon over me."_ )

* * *

"We have an early morning tomorrow. We don't have any more time to waste here." She tugs at his arm, glaring back at the women shooting daggers at her.

Totally oblivious, he squints at her for a second then breaks into a goofy smile. "Ha! Ad _rian_! You know sometimes- _some_ times I think 'Man, my manager, she's such a jerk all the time,' but you!" He pokes her in the chest, hard, and she starts to miss the coverage of her sleeveless turtleneck, but at this point she's really just annoyed. "You always- always- You know what we gotta be doing!"

She guesses it's a compliment, but it doesn't really matter. It's not like he's really himself. Replying to him with a flat "yes," she starts to pull him away from the group of women he's with. Before she walks him away, she turns to them. "By the way, I'd advise you not to try getting my client drunk again, or there will be consequences."

As they walk away, she chides herself. How irresponsible she'd been, letting some women slip alcohol into his drinks without even realizing. Honestly, it'd been a foolish move on both their parts; knowing him, he probably would've let them jump into his bed if he was sober, but they'd had to press it.

The whole not-drinking deal was an oddly important thing for him. He'd made a point to refuse every drink offered to him, even at meetings with bigwigs where refusing _anything_ didn't seem like the best idea. It'd come off as so strange that even she asked him about it, but he'd fed her an answer about how he was underage and he didn't want to ruin his kid-friendly image that she didn't really believe. When she pressed him, he said something about how lame it was to lose control that sounded like it was straight out of a public service announcement. The reason, she'd eventually decided, wasn't that important and he was right when he said it'd help preserve his image. And yet... If he really did care so much about his image, he wouldn't be bringing strings of girls to their hotel rooms every night. In retrospect, it might've all just been because he got drunk so easily.

She still respected his reservations, but tonight... she's been distracted. It's the first big party they've attended in quite a while, and the first one that Juan Corrida's been at as well. Earlier, he'd sought her out, and they'd exchanged absent pleasantries and spoken briefly about Celeste (apparently, her death was still eating away at him, but they hadn't spoken long enough for her to be able to tell just how true that was) and her new client (which he'd brought up with quite a bit of distaste in his voice and asked her about without a hint of subtlety - she'd told him she didn't think too highly of him, but his acting was impressive). He seemed like he was searching for something from her, but it was unclear what, and before she could find out exactly what he wanted, she had to deal with her inebriated client.

"Adrian!" She looks at him, transported out of her own mind. She'd been tuning him out before, but he's staring at her so intently now that he's hard to ignore. She doesn't meet his eyes, choosing instead to focus on the button calling for the elevator. "Your dress... you look... you look so nice!"

Eugh. That's why he was looking at her so intently? "You said that already, when you were sober and I just put it on." Honestly, her dress is a simple red number she found in the clearance rack of a fancy store. Professionalism is important, but she'd hate to give off an air of luxuriousness.

He wrinkles his nose and scratches his chin. "Then... what about this? This is nice!" He lightly touches the pendant hanging from the chain around her neck, and she swats his hand away.

"You gave that to me." It's very him, she thinks, for him to drunkenly give her a compliment and backhandedly compliment himself.

Actually, it was thoughtful when it happened. It'd been the a couple of days before another big event - she can't remember what it was for - and when they'd shared a cab to get to the airport, he'd given it to her, saying it'd match that dress she always wears. She'd been chagrined that he noticed just how often she wore it, but she guessed he'd have to notice if they attended every party together. The necklace itself was nothing special, sterling silver with a fake ruby pendant, but him doing it at all... She appreciated the gesture.

Suddenly, he's pushing her lightly into an elevator, and she thinks how ironic it is that he's doing that and she's the sober one. She presses the button and the door closes.

"So," he says, "I saw you talking to _Corrida_." His disapproval - kind of like Juan's when he talked about him - is completely obvious in his tone, but unlike Juan, he doesn't say his name with venom. Instead, there's something like a childish distaste, as if he's talking about broccoli or cough syrup.

Well, he _is_ drunk.

"I was," she responds, not giving him anything else. Of course he's not in his right mind, but their feud is arbitrary and tiring. She'd rather spend the elevator ride in silence.

"Ad _rian_!" he says in slurred emergency, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You shouldn't! He's an _asshole_!"

She almost laughs for his complete lack of subtlety; it's not the way he often chooses to insult people, mean words masked heavily with passive aggression. Of course, he'd flat-out called her a jerk earlier, but "jerk" doesn't cut quite so deep as "asshole," especially since he'd taken it back after calling her that.

But she doesn't laugh, knowing she's better off not encouraging him. "With my job, I spend a lot of time talking to assholes," she mutters, brushing off his arms. He gets even more handsy when he's drunk… for someone like him, she's surprised that _more_ handsy is even possible.

The door opens and she leads him to their hotel room while he loses his mind over her saying a swear word.

He's leaning on the counter babbling after they've taken off their shoes and she's pouring him a glass of water. As she pushes it into his hands, she says, "You need to drink this. I don't want to spend all day with you tomorrow if you're going to be hungover."

He grins at when he takes the cup, but instead of drinking it, he places the glass on the counter behind him, never once looking away from her. She's about to chide him for it when his hands cup both her cheeks, and she freezes up.

He was handsy before and he touches her affectionately all the time, but this is different. His hands on her face... something like that isn't exactly in the vicinity of platonic, and he's holding her so intimately… What is he trying to do?

Heat rushes to her cheeks, and all she can do is pray that he doesn't notice. Out of everyone, if _he_ found out however it was she felt about him... it would be worst-case scenario.

"You take such good care of me," he says, his voice like honey and his eyes staring holes into her, and even as she tries to break his gaze, she knows she can't. But her face is definitely red now, and she knows he has to feel the heat on his palms, and she hates it. His words... he'd said something just like that in the tabloid. That day...

But before she can reminisce, he's leaning into her, his lips pressing against hers, and she's gone. His mouth is so _soft_ and she's returning his gentle pressure and she's... fallen into it, completely. His tongue grazes her lower lip, and without even a thought, she yields to him, her mouth opening as the taste of chocolate milk and bourbon washes over her. He's swallowing her up, in what she's wanted for so long but also what she hasn't wanted, in what goes against everything she's resolved to stand for, and she hates it but she can't stop, she _can't-_

When they pull apart, his hands having fallen to her shoulders, she asks him, "Wh-Why did you do that?"

Still grinning, he pushes piece of hair behind her ear. "I said. You take care of me."

And then he's leaning in again and she remembers who the man in front of her is and she panics and she steps-

Back.

His arms fall from her shoulders and he's not touching her anymore and she takes a second to collect herself and she says, "You need to drink water."

He recovers from the shock quickly and starts to laugh. It's better, she thinks, than him being mad, but it's still a little off-putting. He picks up the glass and downs it all at once and for a second, she's scared he'll lean in again, but he doesn't. Instead, boisterous as he's been, he says, "All right! I'm done! What's next?"

He's looking at her expectantly and she realizes then just how hard it is to look at him after what happened. It's like looking at the sun, but it's also not like looking at the sun, because it's _him_ , and he- he isn't the sun.

(Celeste was the sun.)

But she can reflect later; he's still inebriated and waiting for her direction. She looks at him. "You need to go to sleep. Come on." They walk to the bedroom of the hotel room. "Just hang your jacket and take off your tie. I... need to use the bathroom."

It's like all of her has been lit on fire, and she can't stand it anymore. When she gets to the bathroom, she washes her face in the sink and stares at her reflection.

What is she doing?

She shouldn't have accepted it, then, when she read that magazine. She shouldn't have realized that maybe she had feelings that weren't hate for him and then have been _okay_ with it. How could she have done that? How could she have done that to _Celeste_?

She died because of him!

She- She needs to be stronger, to not melt under a pretty face and a kind persona and someone who makes her feel like maybe she's okay after all that had happened-

No. Not that. He's- He's not that. She needs... to stop.

"Hey! Adrian! Are you okay?"

She tsks at herself. It's not time for this. He's still out there. "I'm fine," she calls out, drying her face with a towel and then opening the door.

She finds him sitting on his bed, squinting at his bowtie and tugging at it. His suit jacket, at least, is off, clinging to a chair next to his bed. She'll have to deal with that later. "Ha... Usually I can do this... but can you... help me out?"

It's new, seeing him actually embarrassed about something. It's probably the alcohol, but it's... refreshing, she guesses, especially since he's usually so egotistical. Refreshing like a spring breeze.

But that's not who he really is, she reminds herself.

And yet... as she sits next to him while he smiles at her so genuinely, she can't push away her affection. It's still there; everything is still there. She feels his gaze on her as she works on his bowtie, and she becomes incredibly aware that the inside of her mouth still tastes like chocolate milk and bourbon. As she pulls off his tie, she feels her hands shaking.

"Thanks," he says, but she barely hears him, suddenly unable to look away from his mouth.

And then his thumb is brushing her bottom lip, and she's about to fall apart, and then somehow- she doesn't. Instead, she hears herself ask him, "Why?"

His brow is furrowing gently now, and she realizes what she's about to say, but fuck it, he's drunk and this situation and she has to know-

"Why did you tell Juan, when they just got engaged? Why would you do that?"

His hand slowly falls from her mouth and surprise starts to color his face when he breaks into laughter. "Adrian."

His laughter... it's not rage, and she knows it's better than what it could be, but its presence at all... A chill runs down her spine. "Yes?"

"Why did you ask to be my manager?"

She stares at him and she's taken aback and she didn't know he knew and how did he know and why didn't he say anything and what does he think and does he _know-_

His hand is on her face again when he pecks her on the lips and smiles. "I think it's time to go to sleep, dude."

He's right, she thinks, touching her mouth absentmindedly.

* * *

"Whoa, dude, so I totally thought I already asked you if you could stay somewhere else for a while?"

A sheepish grin sits on his face as he rubs the back of his neck, looking at her pleadingly. He's not at his best, hiding behind the door of their hotel room, clearly shirtless and probably clad only in boxer shorts. She thinks about just how thankful she is that she knocked.

"You did," she says. "I just need to get my wallet. I left it on the counter." It wasn't a mistake so much that she thought she wasn't going to need it. Somehow, when she went for a walk, she'd forgotten about the pretty blonde thing at the diner where they'd eaten breakfast who slipped him a number along with his check.

She braces herself for the playful joke he's about to make at her expense, but he does nothing of the sort. Instead, he just... looks at her for a second, and then snaps back into himself. "I'll go get it. Wait here, okay?"

She nods, but can't shake the look. It's odd, but... he is in the middle of having sex. It's not as if she's here at an opportune time.

"Here," he says, his head popping back up from behind the door. She takes the wallet from his hands and then a smile appears itself on his face, and he's ruffling her hair, same as always. "And thanks, dude. You've always got my back!"

The door closes and she tsks and loops out her hair tie, starting to fix the half-ponytail he had messed up. The odd look in his eyes he'd had before still lingers in her mind, but he'd seemed normal at the end of it. It doesn't really matter, she thinks as she turns away from her hotel room.

Anyway, she's got more pressing things on her mind right now. She'd ran into Juan in the lobby, where he'd insisted they have dinner together, and he's still waiting for her there now. He's awfully eager to talk to her, which doesn't make much sense; he's had her number since Celeste, and they've been in the same city for years.

They hail a cab outside the hotel, and it's small talk all the way to the restaurant. This, maybe, is what is putting her off so much about Juan. He so clearly wants something from her, but he's trying to find it in such an indirect way that she wonders if he knows what he's doing at all. Time spent with him feels wasted, on both ends.

Still, it's not like she doesn't have time to waste.

The restaurant is nothing fancy, just a family chain-restaurant that's brightly lit and bustling with noise. It's a stark contrast to the kinds of places her client's taken her on special occasions, but not an unwelcome one. Juan probably chose to come here and take a cab to avoid media attention, which she can't really blame him for. She'd prefer not to be seen with him as well, especially with the feud between him and her client. The tabloids could have a field day with this, and she doesn't want him to find out about it either.

They sit in silence as menus are perused and she feels almost out of place, in this place where babies are crying and friends are sharing stories. By the time the waiter has come and gone with their orders (some kind of linguini for Juan, medium rare steak for her) and Juan starts to tell her about how it's risky to order a steak cooked less than medium in a place like this (a place that Juan chose, she thinks, a little unfairly), her patience has finally dwindled down to nothing.

"Did you want to talk about something?" she asks him, flat-out. Honestly, at this point she's treated him better than most of the people she encounters in her job; she doesn't have any more time for his directionless babbling.

For a second, he's rendered speechless, and she's afraid that even with her comment, nothing's changed. But then he says Celeste's name and... it still doesn't make sense.

They've already spoken about Celeste, at the party the night before. Juan had brought it up in a stilted, awkward fashion, not unlike the way he's bringing it up now. He'd said something about mourning Celeste with a suspicious lack of emotion. Of course, it's not like she bared her soul to him, either, so she's in no place to assume.

Before she can even mention how she thought they spoke about it already, Juan's backpedaling. He says that he was wrong, that what he wants to talk about has more to do with her client, hand running through his hair in obvious stress.

This catches her attention. It makes a little more sense than what he said before. When he'd brought him up earlier, she'd only stayed long enough with him to give him her two cents, not hear his. But she doesn't really need to; the mutual hatred between Juan and her client isn't exactly a secret.

Juan begins a tirade on her client, listing off everything he's ever done that could be perceived as less than kind. Each point he makes sounds petty, and she's sure she could combat all of them with something she's heard about him doing. She... doesn't really care about hearing this.

"I'd appreciate it if you could spare me the song and dance," she cuts him off, patience wearing thinner by the second.

Juan sputters in unwelcome shock, taking her words for a defense of the actor in her care. Disgust is written all over his face, but she honestly couldn't care less how he takes it until he asks her how even she could fall for it, his sickly sweet idiotic persona that he uses to mask the devil lurking inside of him. Surely she must know what he's done.

Overdramatic, maybe, but it hits too close to home. She knows exactly what his last sentence was referring to. For a second, it feels like Juan knows everything, the feelings she detest that live in her, the things she did (and the things she almost did), just last night, with someone like him... Her chest seizes up. Of course she knows what he's done. Of course she hasn't fallen for it.

Juan is smirking now and she knows that right now her heart is too plain on her sleeve for her liking; she'd said those last two sentences out loud without even realizing. The emotion that must have rang out with them... She needs to get herself together.

She needs to get herself together.

A waitress comes over with their meals, seemingly oblivious to the tension and serving them with a smile on her face. It's the distraction she needs. As Juan thanks the waitress for the food and answers all her questions, she takes a second to collect herself.

By the time the waitress is gone, Juan's smirk still hasn't been wiped off his face. He leans in, absentmindedly twirling his pasta, and suggests that if she does know the truth about her client's actions, then she must hate him too.

She's cutting her steak into pieces roughly, her knife slicing cleanly through the tender meat and hitting the ceramic of her plate with a loud clang. Juan notices just how loud and inefficient her process is before she does, a light chuckle escaping him. She sends him a hard look. "Do you think I'd become his manager otherwise?"

Suddenly, any superiority visible in his expression has disappeared. He's excited now, almost shaking, and he asks if she thinks he doesn't deserve his fame, too, for the person he is. It's an odd way to put it, in terms of fame, but she agrees; after all, Celeste had said something similar at the end of her life.

Juan's eyes wide as he talks, he whispers, mouth covered discreetly, that if that is how she truly feels, then she must not be averse to helping him bring him down.

It's such a huge risk on his part to come out and say it like that, but she can barely even waste her time recognizing that. It's not what's important. What's important is that Juan running into her today in the lobby of their hotel, it's a coincidence. A huge coincidence, since she'd just so happened to forget about her client's guest that night and leave her wallet in the hotel room; she wouldn't have come back to the building so early if she'd remembered. And that this opportunity has come the day after last night, and that her client had woken up that morning with no memory of the night before... it's all become clear.

Celeste has given her this, a shot at redemption.

"I... suppose you're right."

With that, Juan calls the waitress over and asks for takeout boxes and the check. He tells her he has so much to tell her, to show her, about the dozens of ways he's devised to bring him down. He says he's glad to finally have her help, because he's needed it for so long. He says that maybe if she's on his side now, they may actually be able to bring him down.

In the cab on the way back to the hotel, she thinks about those words and the reality of what she's doing. About that smile-

That smile that belongs to a devil, who killed the woman she loves. This train of thought is just a waste of time.

Juan is moving too fast when he brings her up to his room; she can barely keep up with the man, a sudden ball of energy after she's agreed to help him. He's like a child, she thinks, and that really is what the feud is to her. Childish.

But if she needs childishness to finally realize revenge for Celeste, who is she to turn it down? In the way that Juan's said that she's what he's always needed for this, maybe it goes for her, too.

She never told Celeste she loved her. For a long time she was too afraid, and then after him, every day was too soon. But Juan, he'd pursued her relentlessly, every no that escaped her mouth just another challenge to overcome. Love was a bullfight for him, and even it was rough and inconsiderate and one-minded... he won, didn't he?

He won, and Celeste never found out how she felt.

And now she's been stuck in a rut, never bothering to think of ways to get revenge for Celeste, and Juan has been up in his hotel room working on a portfolio. Every attempt failing, of course, but he's done more than her with less opportunity.

As hard as it is to admit, idiotic motives and all, she needs Juan just as much as he needs her.

She finally catches up with Juan in his hotel room, digging through a dresser drawer. Papers are strewn across what she assumes is his bed, a red binder sitting in the center of the mess. Juan looks up when he hears her, telling her he's looking for something he has to show her.

The leftover boxes are on the table and she's on the couch by the time Juan's finally done rifling through his drawer and is pressing a wooden bear into her hands. She... gave this to him, back when he and Celeste were dating. Why is it so important?

Before she can ask him, he tells her to open it. She does as he says, pulling out pieces in the elaborate order she'd memorized so she could teach it to Juan. Inside is...

Inside is...

It's Celeste's suicide note, an account of all the wrongs he committed against her. She reads it once, its contents all too familiar, and immediately folds it back up the way she found it. She can hardly stand to read it as the person she is now, the person who's had the audacity to find comfort in the kindness of the man who drove her love to suicide. Celeste must truly have hated him, she realizes, to spend her last moments centered on what would become of him.

Juan tells her as much, explaining how Celeste must have wanted to destroy his rival's career when she died, to bring him down with her. He says that now that he's let her read the note, she must know now just how much he trusts her.

She tells him that she does.

Over their almost-forgotten dinner, Juan starts to detail the plans he's come up with to expose his rival's misdeeds and just how each of them failed. Alone, he explains, he can't quite do it; any attempt he'd make to call him out would probably just be perceived as jealous slander. But with her, it's all different. With her connections, she can make so many things happen. She can be his man on the inside. After all, he says, the person he's out for trusts her.

She doesn't know if she believes that, but she doesn't say anything to correct him. Instead, she lets him speak, listening intently as he draws out his new plans and adding to them where she can. But even when all the food is gone and the table is cleared, they don't seem to have anything; the information she's brought to Juan's table seems to have just ruled all his ideas out as impossible. Somehow, though, he isn't discouraged. He's just... grateful to her for helping, taking note of each thing she says and adding it to his generous red binder.

She's apologizing to Juan when her phone goes off. Excusing herself when she sees it's him ( _of course it's him_ ), she takes the call just outside of his hotel room. "Hello?"

"Hey, dude. Hotel room's free now. You can come back if you want. Thanks for letting me have it!"

"You said that already," she answers him. "I'll be there soon."

"Not much going on tonight, huh? Alright, I'll be here." The phone clicks, and he's gone before she can even think about how wrong he was.

She goes back in Juan's hotel room, and he starts to chatter about some new idea he came up with in the two minutes she's been outside. She cuts him off, telling him about her recent caller and how he'll be suspicious if she takes her time listening to his new theory. Anyway, it's pushing morning now; it's time she gets back.

When she does get back, he's prancing around their room in a bathrobe and underwear, something playing on the TV. "You got here pretty fast," he points out when he answers the door. "What were you up to?"

"I had dinner," she tells him, pulling off her shoes. It's... not a lie. And he'll probably drop it; he sounds more curious than accusatory. After all, it's not like she's the one who decided she'd be out all night.

He wrinkles his nose as he sits down in front of the TV. "Place downstairs, dude? Sucks. Their duck leaves something to be desired."

She nods, but she doesn't really believe him. He'll eat pizza from anywhere, but when it comes to fancy food, he's suddenly got a refined palate. The duck's probably fine.

"Anyway, come here, you gotta see this, Adrian!" he says, watching the television intensely. "I wanna take a role like this."

She looks over at the TV. It's an old classic, something about an American spy taking down the Russian mafia. She'd seen the movie before as a girl; when she was younger, she wanted to be like that. Fighting bad guys, having women fall in love with her... it'd been such a dream. And yet, here she is, working for bad guys, the woman she was in love with dead, not even knowing she loved her.

But him... it would work for him. He's got the fighting down in Nickel Samurai and he's got the womanizing aspect with, well, his face. Paired with his spring breeze image, his reputation would soar. It's a star-making role. Still...

"Your schedule's full with the Nickel Samurai. A movie like that would take at least a year."

"Aw, don't be like that. Just watch it with me." He smiles at her, dimples forming on his cheeks, and she realizes just how much she should not take him up on his offer.

"I have to take a shower," she says, turning away from him and starting to release the half-ponytail in her hair.

"C'mon, it's almost over," he replies, and she can hear the pout on his face, and...

It's... just a movie, right? One she likes. And that smile... And he'll like her more if she does what he asks her. And she needs him to trust her, right? The more he trusts her, the easier it'll be to reach her goal. Right?

( _What's her goal again?_ )

"Fine."

She sits down.

* * *

"Huh, what's this?" she hears him say from his dressing room, and she finds him examining a bottle of wine on his vanity, next to a basket of chocolates and cheeses.

She's apprehensive when she sees him with alcohol, that night still fresh in her mind like it was yesterday instead of months ago. Then again, though, that night, it was bourbon, not wine.

"Isn't your birthday tomorrow? It's probably a gift from the studio," she says, picking a card out of the basket that confirms her theory. She starts to hand it to him when he puts the bottle down.

"Hey, I didn't know you knew!" He grins at her widely as he takes the card from her, as if it's impressive that she, his manager, knows his birthday. She's about to say something about that when his attention turns back to the bottle. "But man, they all know I don't drink..."

She raises her eyebrows. "I thought that was because you were underage," she says, maybe a little transparently. "Drinking won't do any damage to your image now."

It's still a mystery to her why he's so adamantly against alcohol. Maybe he gets a little... _affectionate_ with the people he's with, but it's not like he usually has issues with getting affectionate. The number of girls just this month that showed up at the studio looking for him proves that.

Those girls that _she_ had to deal with...

"No, dude," he says, sounding disappointed, "I told you already. Losing control is lame... Who knows what this stuff could do?" He starts shaking the wine bottle as if to make a point and she takes it out of his hands.

"I'll hold that for now."

But still, his excuse doesn't really hold. He's not that different when he's drunk. She'd tell him as much, but she's resolved to talk as little about that night as possible. Maybe she'll just have to be content with never knowing.

"Hey, do you-" he starts to say when he stops suddenly, staring at her hand wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle. His eyes widen. "Actually-"

He's interrupted by her phone's ringtone, the generic ring that she hasn't bothered to change. She pulls it out, looks at the number, and declines the call, gritting her teeth.

"Your phone's been going off a lot lately," he says, his voice suddenly absent, the emotion that had been in the words he'd been saying before completely lost. His face has gone completely neutral.

"This man I met won't leave me alone," she replies, shoving the phone back into her purse.

Juan... Ever since they'd had dinner that night, he's been contacting her constantly in every method he knows how, her phone his favorite. Usually, it doesn't matter, because he's got information and ideas that she needs and can use, but now... They're finished.

A while ago, Juan drew up a whole plan culminating at the Hero of Heroes Grand Prix, one that could really, actually work. It'd taken some work for them to put it together, especially on her part; she'd had to make a dozen phone calls and organize an event right under her client's nose. The thing is, though, she did it all, organized everything, made the phone calls, and now everything they need to do is done. But Juan won't stop calling her to make sure that everything's in order, no matter how many times she's reassured him.

She knows that he's been waiting for this a long time, and honestly, she's been too, but he's about to blow it for the both of them.

She notices her client, studying her blankly. He's awfully quiet now... "What was it you were about to say before the phone rang?" she asks him, trying to divert his attention back to whatever was making him happy and talkative. Remembering the bottle in her hand, she places it on the vanity.

His eyes are back on her hands and they widen again as he seems to slip back into himself. He turns to face her. "I was asking... Well, work's done for the weekend, right?"

"Yes," she confirms, not quite sure where he's going.

"And it's my birthday tomorrow."

She stares at him. "Wouldn't you know that more than me?"

"And you're free for the rest of the day?" He smiles at her almost hesitantly, and she freezes up.

"Yes..." she says, her voice too low, and she chides herself. Maybe she should have lied...

"You know, dude, I'd hate it if people saw me not acting like myself... But if it was just you... It'd be okay... right?"

He's still smiling, his face almost a little goofy... but she knows exactly what this proposition sounds like. Just her and her client and a bottle of wine... It's not a good idea. The last time he was drunk... She can't.

"That doesn't sound very professional," she says, her voice not strong enough, not together enough.

He pouts slightly. "Well, it... might not be," he admits, and then his arm is on her shoulder and he's smiling again, "but this bottle looks pretty pricey and I... trust you, you know?"

He trusts her.

Doesn't she need him to trust her?

"I... do."

And then she's on his couch and cursing herself. This isn't a good decision; she shouldn't be here. Not with him next to her, jacket and gloves off, downing glasses of wine in one gulp.

There's a movie playing on the huge TV in front of them, the sequel to the movie they'd watched together months ago, but she can't really pay attention while her client is sitting beside her racing to get drunk.

"You're not supposed to drink it like that," she finally says. "It's an expensive wine. You're supposed to sip it."

Her glass is sitting untouched on the coffee table in front of them. She can hold a drink, but she's having enough trouble in this situation already.

"And why do you have so many wine glasses if you don't drink?"

He's laughing now, ruffling her hair without even looking at her. "Guess you can't get off my back for a second, huh? My dad... He used to live here with me, he loves wine. That door there," he says, pointing at the outline of a door she can barely see in the dark room, "it leads to his wine cellar."

"He's why you don't drink?" she asks, surprised. Someone like him... she didn't expect him to have a story like that.

"No, dude!" His smile is so wide now. "It's not like he used to get drunk all the time and hit me or anything. He's a cool dude. I don't drink because... I've got an image, you know? Don't want to ruin it because I got drunk." He laughs. "Man, I've told you this a million times."

"But you don't seem to have any problem with ruining your image by sleeping around," she mutters to herself, barely realizing she's speaking out loud.

He rubs his neck. "A lot of celebrities sleep around, you know; that's a little unfair, dude. And besides..." He pauses, and his voice turned thick. His body curls towards hers and the air in the room is suddenly completely different and how has she not realized _just how close_ they've been sitting until now? "I... didn't think you cared."

She can feel his breath on her face. "I don't."

And it's _true_ , she's never cared, never looked at the girls he slept with with distaste or hate or jealousy... They were just a fixture in her life, the people she'd have to console and make leave. Just another part of the job description. She never saw them in context with... _this_.

But _this..._ she cares so much about this.

"Don't you?" he says, eyes wide as the moon, and he tilts her chin up and his mouth is on hers and it's happening again but she doesn't want it to stop, his soft lips pressing against her and his tongue sliding into her mouth. He tastes so sweet and for a second she thinks maybe she can get drunk just off of this.

His hand threads through her hair, pulling out her hair tie. He's tugging weakly at her hair and his nails dig gently in her scalp. That pain... it's almost exquisite.

And he pulls away from her and she comes back together and she knows it's supposed to stop. "You're drunk," she says, but he just smiles at her.

"I'm not," he says, taking her glasses off, and he's laying her head against the armrest of the couch and then he's leaning over her, his legs intertwined with hers and she knows what position she's in but she's not going to stop it now.

His mouth is on hers again, but he's kissing her so much differently now, hungrier and rougher, nipping her bottom lip. She feels like her mind should be the fighting itself the way it always is but the only intelligible thought she has is that she's needed this for such a long time, for all those hours she's spend with him the past year, all that time she spent wishing she was doing this.

"Adrian," he moans into her mouth, and she swears it's the hottest thing she's ever heard.

His hand starts snaking up her shirt and he's kneading her chest roughly and fuck, she's never been into that, but she can feel his erection rubbing up against her and there's a look on his face that makes her feel like she's on fire.

They pull apart and she whines, unable to help herself. But he's pushing up her shirt and bra and his mouth wraps around a hard nipple, licking and nibbling, and she was afraid before that he might make some comment about just how turned on he's making her but all she can think about now is his teeth on her chest.

He's unbuttoning her pants then, his hand finding its way into her slippery wetness and his long fingers brushing against her clit, drawing out a moan she can't hold in. He laughs against her chest.

Then he's kissing her again, muffling the noises she's making, and his fingers are pumping in and out of her while his thumb plays with her clit, and she swears, one more thrust and she's-

She cries out.

She's there.

"I fucking love you," he whispers breathlessly, his face an inch apart from hers, eyes drinking her in, and her body goes cold.

Love...

Realization floods her consciousness and she's angry, enraged at herself, enraged at him.

"You don't," she whispers, fixing her clothes and trying to look away from him even though he's surrounding her.

There's something like hurt on his face and he's not drunk but he's not himself either and she can't bear to look at him. "Adrian..." he says, slipping out of her until they're both sitting up, not touching each other except for the arm he's put on her shoulder.

" _You don't,_ " she says again, slower, sharper, anger finding its way into her voice. Him... he doesn't know what love is. Love is that pure happiness, the way she'd felt around Celeste. The feelings that flooded her chest the first time she saw her... that joy she felt whenever she saw Celeste smile and that emptiness when she saw her gone. It's not- It's not whatever this is. "Why would you say something like that, after everything? After everything you've done to Celeste?"

He frowns and runs a hand through his hair in stress, pushing his bangs back. She sees them, the angry white lines on his face she's noticed but never commented on, but she doesn't care enough to ask about them now. That's not the answer she needs.

He retracts his arm from her shoulder. "What did I do to Celeste?" he asks her slowly and his voice is so different and his everything is so different, but she doesn't care.

"You..." she says, voice brimming with rage, eyes brimming with tears. "You're the reason she's dead! Don't lie to me... I know everything, Matt!"

And he's laughing, but it's the coldest laugh she's ever heard. She remembers that night, right before it ended... he'd laughed exactly like this. "My manager..." He tucks a piece of behind her ear. "If you knew everything, you'd know the only thing I did was call Juan and tell him that he'd be marrying a woman I've dated."

"We both know she _killed herself_ over that," she shoots back, still mad even though his hand's behind her ear and he's looking down on her and she feels so much smaller than him.

"Did she?" he asks. "See, I _know_ I've done bad things. I know calling him that day, three days after they got engaged, it was kinda petty. But, you know, _I_ thought she killed herself because her fiancé couldn't get over the fact that she had an ex-boyfriend."

And she's struck speechless, because nothing he's saying is wrong.

"Adrian," he says, a sigh escaping his lips, "I'm not the reason Celeste killed herself. I think you have me confused with the person you're sneaking around with behind my back." His hand drops from her ear and he stands up, looking away from her. "I'm gonna take a shower. Don't forget to lock the door and turn off the TV when you leave. And... I'll see you on Monday."

"Matt," she starts to say right before he reaches for the doorknob, and she sees him pause and turn his head, ever-so-slightly.

"Yeah?"

She almost clams up, unsure what she ever meant to say. "Happy birthday."

For a second, she sees the smile she's all too familiar with.

"Thanks."

* * *

When Adrian hears them announce the Nickel Samurai as the winner of the Hero of Heroes Grand Prix, she goes into Juan Corrida's hotel room for what she hopes is the last time.

It's overflowing with children's teddy bears, presents from his fans. He's so popular, she thinks, and he wastes all his time scheming to try to take down someone a little more popular than him. It's... obscenely childish, and she realizes that she never needed to get herself tangled into any of it. She finds the bear she gave him such a long time ago sitting on his vanity, and she slips it into her purse.

She won't let him use Celeste for his own means anymore.

She's about to slip out when Juan comes in, surprised but happy to see her. He's chattering away about how excited he is about tonight, and she knows that she should tell him (she should've told him a long time ago), but she just lets him speak, trying to find an opening and leave his room. He's not even angry about the loss he's just experienced; it's like he never even expected to win. Maybe that's his problem.

Honestly, Juan's probably just so happy because he's so intent on getting a win from all they'd planned today... She _really_ doesn't want to be here when he finds out none of it's going to happen.

But of course she is, watching him open the guitar case she'd brought for him to find an old Pink Princess costume she'd found lying around. Looking at his reaction, she swears his face turns the color of a tomato. He's barely suppressing his anger now, asking her slowly, deliberately, what exactly happened here.

"I made a mistake," she offers, and she needs to leave as soon as possible because it's plain in his expression just how much he does not believe that Adrian Andrews, Matt Engarde's perfectionist manager, made a mistake.

She really should tell him, she thinks, but Juan's yelling, absolutely losing his mind hurling accusations at her. She didn't make a mistake. She did it on purpose, and now, what exactly does she expect to happen at the press conference later? Is she really going to get the Nickel Samurai, have him announce he's saving puppies or orphans or some bullshit? Announce his manager played his rival for a fool?

"The conference isn't happening," she dares cut him off, because, for both of them, it's better if he stops that train of thought now. He'll find this moment humiliating later.

But he doesn't stop. Instead, he's throwing bears around, unable to contain his rage. She's planned this all along, he screams. She'd strung him along because Matt Engarde needed some entertainment, not like she actually gives a damn about her dead best friend. She only cares about her demon client.

The words coming from Juan's mouth that before had been bouncing cleanly off her start to fill her with white-hot rage. She's so _tired_ of people who know nothing about Celeste using her to one-up people they don't like. Celeste was a goddess, ethereal... They never deserved her and they lost her. She's not a point to use in an argument.

She clenches her fist, and right when she's about to let loose on Juan, the door opens.

"Hey, so it seems like I'm interrupting something, but I need my manager back. Thanks, dude!"

He darts in the room, grabbing her wrist before Juan can say a word and pulling her out. She's still speechless as he leads her through the corridor, and it's only when they're at their hotel room and he's locking the door behind her that she finds the ability to speak again.

"Did you hear-" she starts to ask, and he cuts her off with a nod,

"Yeah. That scary guy on the kid's exercise program... He stopped me in the hallway for an autograph and I heard yelling from Corrida's room... and he was yelling at you." His eyes are serious and there's a somberness in his tone... Was he really worried about her?

"But if you heard everything... Does that mean you know?" she asks him, apprehension in her chest. "About the press conference?"

"Well," he says, his voice tired, "I always knew. When I found out you and him were hanging out behind my back, I got wind of your plans, too."

She'd always suspected as much, ever since that outburst the day before his birthday, but... "But you didn't do anything?" she asks. "You knew and you didn't do anything?"

The press conference was canceled last minute; late enough for everybody to find out and talk about, but early enough so no one would show up. And she'd never breathed a word about her sabotaging Juan to anyone, let alone him. Yet he didn't even try to stop it from happening, didn't even _ask_ her to not do it, and he knew the effect he could have on her.

He shrugs as he looks at her, a tiny smile on his face. "I guess I trusted you," he says plainly. "And, I mean, that conference didn't happen, did it?" He's ruffling her hair now, and it feels almost comforting, but...

"It wasn't for you. I did it for Celeste," she says, trying to get his hand out of her hair. "She needs to rest in peace, not in between you and Juan anymore."

"What about you?" he asks, watching her loop out her hair tie lazily. When she starts to re-do the half-ponytail, he speaks again. "You should leave it down. It's nice that way, you know?"

"Is that why you're always messing up my hair?" she mutters, digging through her purse for a comb. "And I don't plan on being part of any of your plots anymore, if that's what you're asking. The feud between the two of you... It's pointless."

As she digs through her purse, she finds the wooden bear, something she's almost forgotten about. Celeste's letter, all she's done... She pulls it out and starts to deconstruct it; she has to make sure it's in there. She has to set Celeste free.

Sure enough, she finds the tiny slip of paper, and as she's about to open it, he takes it out of her hands. "What's this?" he asks, unfolding it.

"It's Celeste's suicide note," she answers, trying to get it back from him. She doesn't know how he'd react to a note like that, listing off everything he's ever done wrong. "Juan was going to use it against you tonight; didn't you know that?"

"Well, not like I knew all the details of your plan. I just picked up on stuff. And, by the way," he says, holding Celeste's note close to his face, "you're wrong. This isn't Celeste's suicide note. This is fake."

W-What? "What do you mean?" she asks him, ripping the paper out of his hands. "Wait... the handwriting... It's different."

She remembers the little notes she'd leave for her when they were roommates, the letters they'd write each other when one of them was abroad and the other wasn't... They'd brought her so much happiness in those days. She was out of it the day Juan showed her the letter, but to forget something like that... How could she?

"It's probably Juan's," he remarks. "That guy... he really hates me."

His comment's wholly unnecessary, but it doesn't really matter. She's not paying him any mind. Instead, she looks at the tiny slip of paper in her hand, the one she'd endured so much yelling to get... "Should I still destroy it?" she asks herself.

It's fake, but it's certainly something Celeste could've written... anyone else would think it was real.

Wait a second.

"How did you know it was fake?"

He's taken aback by her question and he starts rubbing his neck. "When we were dating, she gave me a picture of herself that she wrote me a message on... I look at it, sometimes." His eyes are sincere and she's surprised... Maybe he isn't as heartless as she used to think, if he thinks about Celeste so often that he can recognize her handwriting. "But anyway! What I said before, I was asking..." He still seems apprehensive, his hand on his neck and his mouth turned gently downwards. "I was asking if you're staying, even if you're done messing with our feud or whatever."

He's not looking her in the eye, but... it's such an odd question. She'd never really considered it. Maybe she should've, and maybe she should, quit this job, wipe her hands of everything she's wasted the last two years on. Revenge... what a horrible reason to live. Even if Celeste really did hate him, her devoting her life to bringing him down... It's not what she would've wanted. Celeste would've wanted her to be happy.

But when she looks at him, frowning like that, she kind of doesn't really agree with the idea of calling those past two years wasted. And this... maybe isn't what Celeste would've wanted either. But maybe it's time to start living for herself.

"It's-" she starts to say, but she falls over her words for the first time in a long time. "It's not like I'm getting swamped by job offers."

"But you're such a great manager," he says, staring at his feet, "and I bet if you quit, you would be. I... could make it happen, if you want."

He's actually sad, she thinks to herself. This version of him... is it the real one? The him he becomes when he slicks his hair back? Is _that_ even the real him? But really... whatever him he is... She's already in too deep.

Awkwardly, she puts a hand on his samurai-suited shoulder and looks him in the face. She knows this is a moment where, if they were switched and maybe he was drunk, he'd kiss her, but she's not going to try kissing him now, in his suit that makes him tower above her even higher than he usually does. She honestly doesn't even know if she should be kissing him at all. For now, the hand is enough. "I'm not leaving," she assures him, and then he's staring at her, his eyes so wide, and-

Her phone alarm starts beeping, and she starts correcting herself.

"I'm not leaving, but maybe you should be!" she says, unlocking the door and starting to push him out of the room when he yells.

"Wait, Adrian!" he says, and she stops pushing him for a second. "...Thank you." And then he's starting to turn around and lean over and she _swears_ if he tries to kiss her now-

He does; she dodges it. "We don't have time for this! You're supposed to be on stage _now_."

"Wait, I also don't have my helmet!"

* * *

"You should be outside," she chides him when the door opens as she's retouching her makeup. She eyes his reflection; he's sitting at the couch behind her, and his bow tie's crooked. She knows that's not how she let him leave. What happened to him out there? "The media will be looking for you."

"I'm getting swarmed, dude," he says, leaning back with his arms up on the couch. "The media found me. And so did the fans... There was this one girl in some weird Japanese costume and she completely lost it. I don't think I wanna go back out there."

He's a tired-looking mess, and she'd be worried he might've come off as rude to them if he'd been interacting with them exhausted as he was, but it's _him_. He's never not been cordial or friendly... After all, he's the master of putting on faces, isn't he?

And the way he's acting... he's still wearing one now.

"Well, there's nothing for you to do here," she says, powdering her face.

"Isn't there?" he asks, and she sees him turn to look at her in the mirror's reflection, his face innocent. Her cheeks flush anyway, when she remembers what she said. "I think we need to talk. Come over here, you look fine."

She's a little skeptical when he says "talk" but his voice is low and serious, and she does what he says. They do have a lot to talk about.

She moves his samurai costume pants over when she sits next to him, leaving a healthy amount of space in between. But it's probably pointless... His face is solemn now, and something like that doesn't seem to be on his mind. He's not even looking at her. "Before, when I still hadn't done the after-show yet... you said you'd stay, right?"

"This job pays well, you know."

He chuckles weakly and leans his head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Adrian, I'm... not the kind of person you think I am. If you knew me, I don't think you'd really want to stay here with me."

Who he really is... For him to come out and say it like that, after starting their conversation with a face on... what's he thinking?

He's probably right, that she doesn't know who he really is, but at the same time... "I've been your manager for more than a year," she says, looking over at him looking up at the ceiling. "I've seen you early in the mornings, I've seen you run on an hour of sleep, I've seen you drunk, I've seen you angry, I've seen your scars. And through all that... You've never said an unkind word to me. You've never been cruel. Even if everything about you is different, I don't think you'd change how you treat me."

A hollow laugh escapes him. "You're giving me a lot of credit. It's just, something was different about you... You know, when I was 'kind' to you, I was just trying to get you on my side. I knew Celeste mattered a lot to you and you knew everything I'd done. But then... I _wanted_ to be... I just kept being nicer and nicer to you and I'd tell myself it was just because I wanted to fuck you or something, but... that day you came to my house... I finally had you, but I still wanted to be nice to you. I wanted to make you smile. Cold Adrian Andrews..."

He breathes out, exasperated, and he's still not looking at her. It's like he's talking to himself.

"Just... I found out you lied to me about why you took the job and about hanging out with Juan, and I didn't ask you to leave, you know? I didn't even think about it. God, I could've lost the image and the job I'd worked years on but all I was thinking about was how I didn't want to lose you."

"You're not going to. I'm not leaving."

"But you know you should," he says, leaning forward in his seat and pushing his bangs back, eyes down. "We both know the pay doesn't matter. You could find a job anywhere. Shit, Adrian, you jumpstarted my fucking career. Just-" He's gritting his teeth now. "You _know_. I know you know. I'm not a good a person. I don't care about other people, dammit. My whole life... You saw how I treated Celeste. And whenever I did anything with you... you'd always hesitate before stuff happened, regret it after, no matter how much you seemed to like it when it was happening. A year and a half, you kept me arms-length because you knew how terrible I was. Fuck... didn't you want to destroy me?"

He's right; she knows he's right. She can't fall into him guiltlessly, not after everything. But she also can't _not_ fall into him. "I guess... I'm a terrible person, too. To like you so much despite everything." She laughs bitterly.

"That's my problem! You _don't_ like me! The person you like, it's that fucking dumbass who doesn't even know how to be mean. You're staying with me because you like a mask." He finally faces her, and she sees the angry lines running down his eye, the anguish on his face. "You can't look at me and say that you care about the guy who used your best friend to get ahead."

"You're right," she says. "I can't say that; I don't care about that person. But I don't really care about the person who acts like an idiot, either. The person I care about is the person who heard about the plan I made with Juan and didn't do anything to try and stop me because he trusted me so much, the person who was kind to me when he knew it wouldn't help him, the person who made me feel like I could still be _good_ , even if Celeste was gone. And I think you did all those things, made me feel that way because you wanted to, not because you were putting on an act." He's staring at her so hard, and her cheeks get hot, and she looks down. "There's kindness in you somewhere, you know. I... really believe that."

"You're an idiot," he whispers, but before she can respond, his hands are threading through her hair, and he's pressing his mouth hard against hers. He tastes like chocolate milk and he feels like desperation but it's so much different than all the times they've kissed before. There's nothing pulling her back anymore. She nibbles his lip and he _moans_ and that _sound_... It does things to her. She wants to hear it again.

She pulls off his bow-tie and throws it - somewhere, she'll worry about it later - and she starts unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and his shirt, hands wandering around his chest. She's seen him shirtless before, but she's never realized just how solid he is, his chest all hard muscle.

He's got both of his hands holding her face firmly to his, licking her lips and kissing her harder than he ever has.

Her hands find their way to his belt, undoing it and unzipping him and slipping under boxer shorts she's seen before. She pulls out his cock, pumping her hands up and down until he's moaning against her again. And then she separates from him, sliding to her knees. His eyes are wide as saucers as watches her lick a stripe up his shaft, and shit, he doesn't taste good, but the look on his face is worth it.

"Holy shit," he whispers, and that... that's worth it, too.

She wraps her mouth around the head of his cock and starts to take him in, bobbing her head up and down. He groans, low and deep, and his fingers tangle in his hair again, not frozen anymore. The sensation of his nails on her scalp and that _sound_ ; it's absolutely worth it. She swears she's getting off of getting someone else off.

After a couple of tries, she's finally fit all of him into her mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and he cries out and pulls her off him. "You gotta stop," he breathes out. "I can't keep up like this, and I... I wanna fuck you... if that's okay?"

"Yes," she says and she laughs, looking up at him. His eyes go large when he sees her, his mouth having fallen open slightly, and then he's pulling her up and he's kissing her again, urgently. She feels his hands fall from her shoulders to the small of her back, finding her dress zipper and pulling it down.

"You're wearing too much," he says when he pulls away from her. "And... I don't wanna fuck you here." He tugs on her wrist and she stands up, letting him slip her dress and underwear off and lead her to the bedroom. She sits on the bed and watches him undress furiously, and she laughs again. He's so desperate and he's so clumsy when he's desperate.

But he pushes her down on the bed and his mouth is on her breast and whatever humor she found in him is lost to him on top of her. He's so rough with her now, biting and kneading, but it only amps up the pleasure she feels, the pain tearing into her in the most exquisite way. Then the heat of his mouth on her is lost, and he's leaving a trail of kisses down her stomach, and she knows what's about to do.

"Stop," she half-moans, and she's afraid he won't understand her and she can barely form a sentence now. But he does stop, looking up from her stomach, his eyebrows tilting downwards. "I need you inside of me."

"The condoms are, uh, I need to go-"

"I'm on the pill."

There's confusion on his face and _fuck_ , does she not have time for this, but he apparently drops whatever curiosities he has and he moves on top of her. He runs a finger inside of her - "Fuck, you're so wet," he whines - and positions himself at her entrance, entering her... too slowly, too gently.

"Faster," she says, pushing herself up into him, and he moans. He can be so rough, she thinks, when he's touching her and now he's treating her like a damn porcelain doll and _this is not the time_.

"Shit, I've wanted this for so long," she hears him mutter, and then he's not holding back anymore, steadying her shoulders with his hands and thrusting in and out of her faster than she can feel and _shit_. He feels so much bigger than she thought he would and that pain he's making her feel is so perfect. She's never realized just how much she needed this from him until now.

And then he's picking her up, holding her to him, and his mouth is on hers again. His thrusts start hitting her so much differently as he pounds into her with abandon. His movements are erratic and rushed and his pace keeps picking up faster and faster and she hears his breath hitch and-

He cries out and he's filling her with warmth and shit, why the fuck does that turn her on so much? She grabs his face and holds it to hers, swallowing the sounds he's making as he slows down, and he came but he's still moving inside of her and she's almost there and-

"Oh my God, please, just a little more, I just need you-"

And he's laughing, slamming into her harder than he ever has, but pacing himself, leaving an achingly long time in between thrusts, and she can't _stand_ it. She whines again and he's still laughing. "I... waited so long for this... and you're – acting – like – you're – _just_ – _a_ – _fucking_ – _whore_ ," he says, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust and she honestly could not give a damn about his words because he feels so good. He's still saying something but she barely hears it because the only thing she's registering is the periodic searing in her abdomen and then she's screaming.

After she orgasms, he rolls off her and lays next to her in the bed. They slide under the blanket, somehow falling asleep.

She wakes up curled into his chest, the hotel room almost completely dark, save the lamp they left on in the other room. The sun... it must've set a long time ago. The party is long over. She moves her head to look up at him when she hears him speak.

"Do you regret it?" he asks, staring at the ceiling, his arm wrapping around her and his hand finding its way to her shoulder.

She remembers what he said before, about how she'd hesitate before doing anything and regret it after, and she frowns, looking down. Absently, she realizes that she can hear his heartbeat. "I don't," she replies, and pauses. "But... I should."

For a moment, there's silence. She darts her eyes up to look at him and his expression is empty. He doesn't say a word.

"I told you, didn't I? I'm a terrible person." Laughing darkly into his chest, she closes her eyes.

"We both are."

She doesn't open her eyes, just listens to his heart. It's there, she thinks, cased inside his rib-cage and pumping away. Why, then, is it so broken?

"You cared about her, didn't you?" he suddenly asks, his words vibrating against her cheek. "Celeste..."

"I was in love with her," she says, a smile taking over her face even though she doesn't really deserve to smile over her memory, not someone who's doing what she's doing.

She feels him inhale sharply in surprise, but he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he asks, "Why? What was it you fell in love with, in her?"

It's an odd question. "You knew her," she points out.

"I never knew her the way you knew her," he replies, and he doesn't say it, but she can hear the implied _I didn't care about knowing her at all._

But he did, didn't he? He did know her. "And _I_ never knew her the way you did, either." She breathes out slowly, wistfully. "But didn't you see it? She was _beautiful_." And then his heartbeat fades out from her hearing, and she's there, in that classroom where she laid eyes on the most beautiful woman in the world for the first time. "The first time I met her, I knew. We met in college, and whenever she figured something out, her eyes would shine _so_ bright. You'd think she just found the cure for cancer. And she was so kind; she was paired with me the class we met, and I couldn't wrap my head around the things we were learning at all, but she never got impatient with me. When we got older, she'd always stick by me, even when she was landing important jobs and always had to run around busy. She mentored me, even though she didn't have to. She's the reason people think I'm so good at what I do. I just think of what she would do, and it's always the right decision.

"And didn't you see it?" She laughs. "It's a cliche, but I swear that whenever she smiled, she really would light up a room. Or- not even just that. I'd always get so sad whenever we were apart, but just a call from her, or a postcard she sent me, and my day would completely change. She made my chest feel so full. And she cared so much about me; when my dad got in a car crash, she was with me in the hospital waiting room, even though she knew they wouldn't let her in. I used to think how lucky I was, to find someone so wonderful to fall in love with, even if she didn't love me back."

And now she's here, in bed with the man she hates. But she knows she can't say that.

"I... guess I never saw her that that way," he says when she feels tears leaking out of her eyes, and she rolls away from his chest.

"I don't know how you didn't," she replies, heaviness in her words. "You and Juan, she loved both of you so much, but you never appreciated her the way she deserved."

"You're probably right. If you loved her so much... she was something, huh?"

And an anger blooms in her chest, that he defined Celeste's perfection by her opinion of her. That's not the way it really is; Celeste doesn't need her to be amazing, she needs Celeste to be amazing. But she knows that his heart doesn't work, that he can't know any better, and she bites her tongue. "Yes," she finally responds. "She was."

He's silent for a second, and she thinks maybe he won't speak again, but she's wrong. "I'm... sorry. For what I did to her, and... for taking her away from you."

He shouldn't be apologizing to her, and she can't be quiet anymore. Why doesn't he realize that _she's not the one allowed to forgive him_? "She hated you, you know. When she died, she died blaming you. She said that this world couldn't be good if someone like you could succeed in it."

She's struck him speechless, and she realizes just how cruel she's being, but she can't bring herself to stop.

"What you were saying before... You were right. I _should_ hate you. I did, for a while... but sometime between when I became your manager and now... I started to care about you. I started to believe there was kindness somewhere in you. God... I _still_ believe that," she says, sadness leaking from her words. "You were the first one to make me feel like I could be okay again, after everything."

He's silent, almost like he knows that the worst thing he could do right now is speak.

"I hope one day... I hope one day she can forgive me."

She feels him pull her back into his chest, and all she can do is cry.

He lays there for a while, not saying a word, the only sound in the room her choked-back sobs. And then he breaks the silence.

"Is that why you got so mad at me then, that time at my house when I said I loved you?"

She nods against his chest, unable to speak.

"For what it's worth, Adrian... I still think I meant it."

* * *

When Adrian gets her face in a tabloid the first time alongside her client, their clothes and hair sloppy and disheveled, she almost threatens to sue.

"You know," he says to her after she slams the magazine on his dressing room vanity, "I don't really see the problem with this. They love us."

And it's true; whoever wrote the article about them (a Ms. Hart that will be getting a phone call from her _very_ soon) did their research. They dug up that article from what must've been a year ago at that point, when he'd named her as a woman that meant something to him. Particularly, they'd fixated on that one line - "the one person who won't swoon over me" - and proceeded to treat them like protagonists in a romantic comedy.

"I _know_ you don't see the problem with this. You did an interview." He smiles at her sheepishly now, scratching the back of his head as stands from his vanity. "Don't encourage them." She rolls the tabloid up and swats him on the back of the head.

"C'mon, stuff like this is our bread and butter. And aren't you the one who always says the most important thing is keeping the fans happy?" he asks her, and she can't stand that he's using her words against him.

"Not like this," she retorts. "You make them happy by keeping it professional." And it's true. That's what she tells him every time he's got to do a signing or a meet and greet; if a fan asks you to do something odd, politely decline, and move on. Usually, of course, he doesn't, and they end up finishing late because he wasted so much time, but it _is_ what she always says.

He laughs at that, smirking at her, and he tilts her chin up and pecks her on the lips. "If I remember right, I don't think you and I made ourselves happy by keeping it professional."

Hmph. What a low blow. "If _I_ remember right, I don't think I was really a fan." She turns away from him, digging through her bag for their itinerary and deciding to drop the topic for now.

But he's not ready to, apparently. "Aw, don't be like that," he says, moving to face her. "I'm sorry you don't wanna be in the magazines. I just did the interview because, I mean, I'm happy we're together, you know? You're so great. I just want people to know about you."

He was inconsiderate, she thinks, just going out and talking about her without even letting her know. Of course, it's not like he got really personal in the interview or said anything inappropriate but... he still should've asked her first. And yet, that tiny pout on his face and the things he's saying... She's used to him being sweet and saying cheesy romantic things, but something like that… she can feel her cheeks heating up. He's just... so nice to her.

"It's... fine," she says. "Just ask me next time."

He ruffles her hair, his smile beaming, and as she fixes her hair again, she tells him that she regrets encouraging him.

But months later, when he asks her to be his date to the premiere of the Nickel Samurai movie, she doesn't say no.

* * *

"You know food, don't you?" she asks him, scribbling events into her planner, the bacon and eggs on the table getting colder by the second.

He's poking around their cabinets for some fancy kind of chocolate milk mix that he insists will change her opinion about chocolate milk (that opinion being that it's for children), and she's just waiting for him to sit down.

"Didn't I make us breakfast?" he asks, examining a bag of what looks like expensive coffee and tossing it aside. She sighs. The counter's a mess now.

"No, _really_ know food. There's going to be an annual French pastry contest on the beach in two weeks and they need a celebrity judge. You're always acting like you're a gourmet, so I thought you might want to do it." It's a big, televised event, something that would definitely boost his star power, provided he doesn't make a fool of himself pretending he knows enough about food to critique it next to professional judges.

"I found it!" he exclaims, pulling out an opaque black jar that looks awfully suspicious and grabbing her coffee mug. He gets to work on the chocolate milk, completely ignoring her question and then slamming her mug on the table triumphantly, some milk spilling onto her planner. She sighs at her book and takes a sip from the cup as he watches her.

"It's... good," she says, but she doesn't really mean it, and the look on his face tells her that he can tell.

"Why don't you like it?" he asks, and she starts to tell him about how she doesn't really even like chocolate at all, but he's already making a big show out of taking it out of her hands for himself, saying something about how something so great is wasted on her.

"Matt," she interrupts him. "About the French pastry contest? I need to get back to them by today." She taps her finger on her planner pages, scanning the words she's written down.

"Oh, man, I totally forgot about that!" he says, rubbing his neck, blithe smile on his face. "Well, I know about food enough to do it, but they _do_ know I'm not French, right?"

She tsks, not looking up from her planner. He "knows enough about food" - she kind of doubts that, but he's always good at coming off as likable. "Of course they- Wait, what?"

"I'm... not French. Didn't you know?" he asks her, staring at her like she's got seven heads. His fork is flat on the table, abandoned when he heard her outburst. "Did you... Did you think Engarde was my real last name?" He's laughing at her openly now, and she can feel her ears turning red. "Did you think I played a samurai on TV and my last name just happened to be Engarde?"

"How was I supposed to know?" she asks him. "You don't look like you're not French..."

And it's true, chestnut hair, brown eyes, olive skin... He never really acts French or says anything about being French, but his last name is _Engarde_. And like she has time managing him to realize his name is some fighting term or whatever? It's not even like she really cares about sports... He's being unfair, she thinks, rolling her pen in her fingers.

"And I always feel like you know everything. My last name's Santos," he says with a light chuckle, a definite improvement from him absolutely losing it from her making a mistake about his surname. He starts digging back into his breakfast.

"So you're Hispanic?" That really came out of left field. If she had to place him, she wouldn't think he was Hispanic at all. But maybe that's the reason for the feud between him and Juan... Two Latino actors fighting it out for roles in brutal Hollywood... but, even put that way, it still sounds a little unnecessary.

"No, man," he says, mouth full of eggs. He swallows and starts talking again. "My dad's Filipino."

"But you don't look Asian," she says, squinting at him. Or maybe he does... The yellow undertones in his skin, the almond shape of his eyes... "And I thought he was in France."

He looks at her oddly. "He's not. I don't know why you think that at all, actually. He's in the Philippines," he says. "And my mom was Italian, but she left a long time ago, so we don't talk about her that much."

It's the first time he's brought up his mother in the time she's known him, and he's... closed on the subject. Not sad, but she knows too well the way he acts when he doesn't want to talk about something. His expression's gone neutral, and he's focusing on his food again. There's just a total disinterest. She's a little curious, but she knows everything about him that's important to her. And he's more open with her than he is with anyone else, the way he's started leaving his hair slicked back when they're alone. She can respect the things he doesn't want to talk about. After all, it's not like she talks about her family all the time, either.

Noticing her staring at him, he winks at her and grins. "Hey, so what about you? What's your last name?"

Does he really not know? He can be an airhead even when he isn't pretending to be an airhead, but she really does expect more from him. At least be a little more subtle when you ask for it, she thinks. "It's Andrews," she says, staring at him.

"I mean your real last name," he says, laughing. "I know you go by Andrews. Geez... no faith, huh?"

"It's my real name," she responds, eyebrows furrowed.

"But you're Asian," he says. "How'd you get that last name?"

He says it so confidently and she's... a little shocked. She always thought she passed for white pretty well, and even though it isn't like she's _trying_ to (other than her dyed blonde hair), she's not going to run around telling people where she was from. And it's so odd how he doesn't even entertain the idea that she's half... Usually people don't even notice she's Asian at all.

"My dad, when he immigrated here from China... He passed really well for a white person with black hair, so he changed his name so people wouldn't be so put off about hiring him," she says. "How did you know I wasn't white?"

"I know your hair's blonde, Adrian, but you know you don't really pass for a white person, right?" She watches him scoop up a forkful of eggs and doesn't grace him with an answer. "So anyway, what was your name supposed to be?"

"Lau." She used to wish it was her last name when she was younger and all the kids bothered her about why her name was wrong. Kind of the way he's doing it, but less curious, more cruel. Then she got older and started dyeing her hair blonde and people stopped bugging her about it.

She shakes her head. What an unwelcome trip down memory lane... and a waste of time, considering she's got an itinerary to sort out. She doesn't really have time for this. She picks up her pen again and starts working on her planner.

"Hey, that's cool. Adrian Lau," he says, like he's testing it on his tongue. "Listen, since we're talking about last names... do you want mine?"

Half-listening, she responds, "Which one?" not bothering to look up.

"Huh... Well, I was thinking it'd probably be Engarde since that's what everyone calls me, but I'd be okay with Santos... It'd make my dad happy." In the corner of her eye, she sees him stroke his chin. "Honestly, if you want, I could take one of yours. Matt Lau. Matt Andrews. That last one, though... I don't know if I'd want to have two first names. No offense."

She looks up when she hears him say the name "Matt Lau," her hand freezing and the pen slipping from her grasp. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Um," he starts to say, eyes darting downward, "Yes."

She raises an eyebrow and leans in the table, looking at him. "By seguing from a conversation where we established that I don't know your last name?"

She feels like it's her turn to laugh now, but she's feeling generous, and she doesn't. Honestly... every day with him is an adventure, isn't it? And it's only 10 in the morning...

"No, see... I was thinking about it before. We've been dating for more than year now, and you moved in here a while ago," he reasons out, his face completely serious. He taps his plate with his fork as he thinks. "And... I've met a lot of girls, you know?"

She nods; she knows that more than anyone. Those days angry women used to show up to the studio... She shudders to remember them.

But the words he's saying... is he really being serious? It's not like he's not making valid points, but to say something like that...

"And I don't think I'll ever really feel the way I do with you with anyone else," he admits, poking around a piece of bacon. "It's not like I've picked out a ring or anything, but I just want to put it out there, see how you feel about it. I mean, if you feel the same way... we should get married, shouldn't we? Isn't that what people do?"

She feels her cheeks heat up. To just... come out and say something like that, she doesn't really appreciate it. And... it's really not like she ever dreamed of marriage when she was younger, and even when she fell in love with people the idea was just so outlandish it never crossed her mind. But… she knows she won't be falling in love with anyone else, and she's gotten used to him. He's comfortable now, if a little annoying and childish sometimes. He's… home.

"I suppose you're right," she says. "But... I probably won't take your last name." She pauses and thinks a second... She doesn't really want to take his last name, not either of them, but for it to be a deal-breaker? "Unless you really want me to?"

"No," he says, clearly embarrassed, too, "it's- it's fine. Do you-" He coughs. "-want me to take yours?"

Her father, she knows, would absolutely love that, but he's too well-known to change his name now. "No, it's... fine."

"So-" His eyes dart up to look at her, and then fall back down at his plate. "So it's settled then."

"Yes, it's... settled."

* * *

When Adrian quietly leaves the mansion and the rising sun isn't even in sight, it's been exactly five years since Celeste died.

She's a ghost as she floats down lively Los Angeles streets, completely detached from the chatter and music she hears coming from bar windows. At the sight of flowers in a deli - a bouquet of red roses, flowers she knows Celeste never really liked - she walks in and purchases them, cradling them in her arms like a child when she walks back out.

The cemetery gate is open when she gets there, a small blessing. She wanders through the pitch-blackness with difficulty, groping her way through strangers' graves until she can just barely make out the outline of a simple round headstone among intricate crosses and frames. Celeste...

She lays the flowers over her grave and lies down next to them, flat on her back. She usually hated lying down on grass, but here, next to her... it's so different.

"Celeste... It's been five years since you left me, did you know?" she asks, staring up at the moon. "It's official now... You've been gone longer than I've known you."

She runs her fingers through the grass over her grave. Those five years... When she died, it was almost a fourth of all the time she'd been alive... and now it's a fifth. And she'll keep living, won't she? And her time with Celeste will become less and less and maybe it'll fade away but...

No. She won't let it happen.

"God knows I'll never forget you." She turns on her side, facing those cheap red roses. Celeste... never liked them, but she wanted to leave her something. She used to say something about how she didn't trust red roses, how every time she got them the person who gave them to her would let her down. She was a serial dater in college, and then Matt Engarde, and Juan Corrida... maybe she had a point.

And now her... She did let her down, didn't she?

"I'm sorry... for everything, not just the roses. I know I don't deserve to be here right now... to remember you so fondly..." She closes her eyes. "You were always looking for love, weren't you? All those boyfriends you went through... I thought someday, at the end of it all, you'd end up with me somehow. But I see now... I didn't deserve you either. You were too good for all of us."

She reaches for the bouquet and clutches it to her chest.

"It was just five years, but you changed my life. You brought so much happiness to this world that couldn't make you happy. Thank you, Celeste..."

She buries her face in the bouquet, and all she can do is cry.

 _She's sitting alone in a cafe, chewing absentmindedly on a blueberry scone while a half-drank mug of coffee sits at her side._

 _Then the door flies open, a woman in a blazer and turtleneck bustling in, running to her side. "Adrian! I'm so sorry I'm late!" She pulls out the chair across from her and sits, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. "This man at Global Studios is just refusing to give Matt the job, and I spent an hour talking him down. What a waste of time... We both know he's the most qualified candidate, but he just has to be difficult. Who_ is _Juan Corrida, anyway?"_

 _The woman says the name with such distaste and she laughs. She definitely doesn't know who he is. "It's fine, Celeste! How are you? I haven't seen you all week."_

 _"Oh, I know," she says regretfully. "It's such a busy time for Matt, what with the summer coming up and everything. There are a million opportunities that I have to find and secure. I wish I didn't, though... I miss you. How's college?"_

 _"Finals are over, so I'm happy... Other than that, though, it's the same as it's always been," she starts to answer when a waitress comes over. But it's worse without you around, she thinks. She won't say that to her, though; she's stressed enough, she wouldn't want her to worry her even more._

 _"I'd just like a hot chocolate, please. Thank you," the woman says to the waitress, and once the waitress is gone, she turns to her. "I almost forgot to ask you! Are you free tomorrow?"_

 _She answers without thinking; if she has plans, she'll cancel them. She misses her so much. "Yes, I am."_

 _"That's so good to hear! See, Matt wanted to take me to Disneyland tomorrow, and I told him no since I've been spending all my time with him and no time with you, but he said you could come, too! You said you've never been there before, right?" The woman, she's so happy now. As she talks, she moves her arms in wide gestures and her smile never leaves her face._

 _She feels affection wash over her._

 _And yet... "I... don't really think I can afford that right now. I don't really have a job lined up after graduation and I have loans to pay off... I'm really sorry." It's unfortunate, especially since she's been seeing her so much less lately._

 _"Matt will pay for it, don't worry! He's loaded, you know... I have no idea where the money comes from, but it really comes in handy at times like these, right?" the woman says, laughing to herself._

 _She can't even enjoy the joke because the prospect is so outrageous. She almost spits out her coffee. "Are you sure? I barely know him and that's a lot of money!"_

 _"He's rich and he volunteered, it's fine," she reassures her, waving a hand. "And my two favorite people will be together again! You guys like each other, right?"_

 _The waitress comes over with the woman's drink and she gives her a quick thank you while she thinks about her question. "Yeah... I think he's really good for you."_

 _The woman is smiling now, so much softer and gentler than her smile before. She loves both of those smiles, but the way she's looking at her now... It makes her feel warm inside, like there's nothing in the world to worry about because she's happy. "It means a lot to hear that from you... Thank you."_

 _And she's quiet for a second, breathing in and out and thinking how she wants to live in this moment forever, where the person she loves more than anything else is smiling at her so quietly._

 _"I mean it, you know," she finally says, and then the woman is laughing and squinting at her._

 _"You know, won't you feel a little like a third wheel coming along with us?" the woman asks, and she's taken aback._

 _She watches the woman sip her hot chocolate, speechless for a second. "I thought you wanted me to come."_

 _"Oh, that's not what I meant!" she exclaims, chuckling lightly. "I mean, we should bring someone for you! I bet Matt knows a guy!" She winks at her and she dies a little inside._

 _This is... a little worse than what she thought before. To have the woman you love volunteer to set you up... it's not a feeling she particularly enjoys. "Thanks, Celeste, but I'm not really interested in a boyfriend right now. I'm okay third-wheeling."_

 _The woman leans forward and studies her, stroking her chin. "Girlfriend?" she asks, and she's filled with apprehension. For a second it feels like she knows everything, but then she continues, "Matt knows girls, too," and she knows how much she doesn't. The woman raises her eyebrows suggestively._

 _She rubs her neck, staring at her reflection in the coffee. "I'm not really looking for a relationship right now, Celeste."_

 _"Aw," the woman says, a pout on her face, and then her expression turns serious. "But I'm not going to force you if you don't want to. It's just- I'm so happy with Matt right now." The woman's eyes are so soft now, that gentle smile back on her face, and all she can think is how beautiful she is. "When you're in love... Everything they say, it's true. The air smells sweeter and the world becomes so much more vivid and it's like being wrapped in this warmth, this kindness, all the time."_

 _"I'm happy for you," she says, and it's so_ genuine _how she feels, and right then she knows it so strongly, that she only needs this woman to be happy to be happy herself. She doesn't need to be the one making her happy, or a part of it at all. She just needs her the way she is now._

 _"See, that's it! I don't want you to just be happy for me, even though I'm grateful for it. I want you to feel like this, too. You've been so kind to me ever since we met. No matter what I do, or no matter what happens, you're always there for me. You're the person who deserves this kind of happiness the most. More than anyone else, Adrian, you deserve love."_

 _And she's thinking that being here with this woman is enough either way when a part of her starts screaming that she needs to tell her she loves her. She needs to tell her how she feels when she sees her eyes so soft, how moved she is when she sees her sad, how much she_ matters _to her-_

"Celeste... I love you so much..." Arms are wrapping around her now, but they're too hard, too solid, not soft or warm, and everything's wrong. She opens her eyes and she's in the cemetery, the sun barely risen, being held by him, and just like that, everything has disappeared. "Celeste!"

"I thought I'd find you here... Let's go home, okay?" He scoops her up and she weeps into his chest, arms clinging to his shoulders.

He lays her in the backseat of the car and she falls into a dreamless sleep.

When she wakes up, she's in the darkness of the lounge. She sees him sitting at the desk, working on something, but she doesn't say anything.

That dream she had before... It was such a long time ago. She'd almost forgotten it, that Celeste had said something like that, that she deserves love. She thinks about the man sitting just a couple of feet away from her, the man Celeste blamed for her death and the man she fell so deeply in love with, and she speaks.

"Matt," she says, sitting up.

He sits up in his seat, turning his chair to face her. "You're awake! Um... Are you okay?" he asks, almost hesitantly, starting to walk over to her. Celeste was always a touchy subject for them; he never spoke badly about her, but he somehow understood that she believed they didn't really deserve to speak about her at all.

Or used to believe.

"Do you remember how I always used to get mad at you whenever you'd try to apologize for everything you've done?" He's sitting next to her now, a solemn look on his face. "Because it's Celeste who needs to forgive you, not me?"

"I... do."

"I think now," she says, looking at the scars on his face and his wide eyes, "that maybe... she'd forgive you, because of everything you've done for me. Because you've made me happy again, despite everything." She closes her eyes and pictures her love in her mind. "I... really hope she would."

He envelops her in his arms, her face on his shoulders. "Adrian... you know she cared about you, right? When we dated, you were the only thing she talked about, her wonderful best friend Adrian... When you became my manager, I felt like I knew everything about you already."

To hear that from him, to hear that Celeste spoke about her fondly so often that even someone who didn't care about her noticed... It hurts her. "She told me once... that more than anyone... I deserve love. She said that... to _me_..." She's sobbing into his shirt again, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"She was right, you know." She feels him kiss her hair. "Adrian… she cared more about you than she cared about Juan, more than she hated me. You shouldn't feel so guilty anymore."

* * *

When Adrian's having dinner with him one day and he offers her a ring, she takes it.

Three days later, she wakes up, and nothing's changed. He's still lying next to her, and she feels it, like she's wrapped in that warmth and kindness Celeste had told her about, so many years ago. She... can't really believe it, having this happiness that was so outlandish she never even dreamed out it.

She looks up at his face, the angry lines he hides from everyone that somehow coexist with the rest of him, his gentle eyes and the serene look on his face as he sleeps. Without thinking, she leans over and kisses him there on his left eye, and he jumps.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he asks her, touching where the place where she kissed him, his face red. "You... can be really weird sometimes, you know that?"

She's blushing too now, turning away from him. "I... didn't know you were awake."

"Man... that doesn't make it any less weird..."

And she's still embarrassed but then he's on top of her, his lips on hers, and all she can think about is how much she loves him.

In that moment, she _knows_ it, that these days she spends with him, these days she'll spend with him for the rest of her life, when the actor and his manager are hand in hand, blissfully in love... These days are the happiest she's ever been.

* * *

tying up some loose ends (aka romcom credits):

\- Adrian keeps the suicide note in case Juan tries to make another one. Related, Juan never stops working on his binder and never seems to come up with a plan that works.  
\- Adrian gets so mad about Lotta's tabloid article that her yelling at the Editor-In-Chief gets Lotta locked out of tabloid writing. That's okay, she was losing interest anyway. (But for some reason, they don't stop writing articles about Matt and Adrian, which was the actual problem...)  
\- The French pastry contest people know Matt isn't French, but people think he's French, so it's okay. He criticizes a pastry for "lacking umami," and then calls the next one "too cinammon." The audience loves him, but the judges are about to wring his neck on live TV.  
\- Matt's rich because his dad's good at playing stocks, and his dad left all his alcohol behind in the States in an attempt to stop drinking. He's doing... well, for him.  
\- Matt and Adrian fuck after the last scene. People loving his flaws is Matt Engarde's ultimate kink. He listens to a lot of Ed Sheeran.  
\- Shoe, Matt's cat, is not mentioned once in this fic. This is because Shoe is Schrodinger's cat, or, if I may, Shoedinger's cat. He is both there and not there, simultaneously.  
\- In Adrian's dream about Celeste, she remembers the drink that Celeste ordered wrong. She ordered green tea.

* * *

author notes:

\- That whole French pastry scene could be alternatively titled "Me Shoving My Baseless Race Headcanons Down Your Throat, and Marriage." It was the result of me becoming drunk with power after creating this relationship through absolutely no canon basis. Also, I believe in asshole Matt who acts like he's a gourmet after marathoning Chopped.  
\- Matt's real last name wasn't a shout-out to The West Wing (though I will not rule out him later becoming POTUS in his career); he was named for the word "saint." Related, "Lau" means "destroy."  
\- This story was originally going to end with Adrian not framing Matt after she finds Juan murdered because she blames Juan at the point and has an undeniable attraction to Matt, but then I said to myself, "Holy shit, what the fuck am I doing here?" and proceeded to not do that.  
\- I wrote this in ten days, and the only reason I started writing this story is because I wanted them to have sex, but I wanted it to not be rapey. I'd like to think I've come pretty far.

* * *

I might end uploading a new chapter from Matt's perspective. I'm marking the story as complete because I don't know if real life will allow me to do that (even though I am deep, deep in rarepair hell and really want to), but be sure to subscribe if that's something you're interested in. Thank you for indulging me in my questionable, outdated interests. I really appreciate it!


	2. spring breeze

It's finally done, and it's longer than the other one. I really hope you guys enjoy it! Also, Juan Corrida appears in this fic later, and I need you all to know that he's voiced by George Takei. I didn't write his lines with those intentions, but my mind read his lines in George's voice and I let it happen.

By the way, we all see the first Farewell, My Turnabout episode of the anime? I love seeing my kids animated. Who's irrelevant now, mom?

* * *

Adrian Andrews (after being shown Matt Engarde's profile): I asked to become Mr. Engarde's manager. He's a pleasure to manage with a nice disposition.

* * *

It's not love at first sight, because what the fuck is love at first sight?

Hell, it's not even love. All he knows about her is that she's the girl that Celeste won't shut up about, some chick she met in college. He can name a million things that he knows she'll like with absolutely no context as to why. Spy movies, blue sweaters, closet organizers, fucking coupon books... That last one had annoyed him a ton, actually, when they'd just been out walking and Celeste stopped in front of a grocery store window to talk about how much her best friend would like it.

Not like every second with Celeste is a bundle of laughs (how _boring_ she is, all the damn time) but she could try to keep it at least vaguely interesting. Shit, though, that's his life now, though, isn't it?

He needs her, anyway, and if he's gotta do boring stuff with her like spend time with her best friend, who is he to complain about it?

She's okay, actually. Nothing special; kinda bookish-looking with those glasses of hers and the way she pulls her hair up so tightly. He's definitely getting a hot librarian vibe from her, with that pencil skirt and those curves, but... not like he's gonna do anything about it. Celeste keeps him satisfied, and he needs her too much to risk having a fling with some girl. Plus, her best friend? Even he knows that's kind of fucked up.

And, alright, kind of hot, too, but it doesn't really matter. She's librarian hot, not a sex goddess. Plus, he never was really into the librarian thing, anyway.

But shit, if he was into her? He's pretty sure he could get into her pants pretty quickly, if she didn't have the whole "best friends with his girlfriend" thing going on. After all, all he does is show up and she looks at him like he's Greek fucking God. He thought she'd be a hardass, the way Celeste talked about how close they were, one of those "don't hurt my best friend!" types, but she's charmed in seconds.

Okay, but like that doesn't happen with pretty much everybody? Not his fault he's super likable. 'Course he has put on the act, but it's ninety percent his face, too. Well, ninety percent half his face. That's... should he do a conversion or something there? Nah.

He gets on with her like peanut butter and jelly for awhile and Celeste is fucking ecstatic. She won't shut up about how happy she is, and he's starting to get tired of it just when Celeste has to take a call and she leaves him.

When they're alone, that girl looks at him a second, the sun glinting off the frame of her glasses, and says, "Hey." She says it in such a hard-to-read tone, and there's a accusatory undertone in the word "hey" sometimes, and this is where he starts to get scared that it's time for the "don't hurt my best friend" talk. But then her face breaks into the softest fucking smile and she goes, "Thank you for being so good to Celeste. She's had boyfriends before who didn't treat her well, but with you, she's the happiest I've ever seen her."

And it's the exact opposite of what he thought. He's honestly about to start laughing, but he knows he shouldn't. Still, the way this girl's looking at him now, he feels a little bad about using her friend.

The feeling passes.

"No problem, dude. She's just the perfect girlfriend, you know? I _gotta_ treat her like a princess."

She falls for it hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

Honestly, he kind of regrets breaking up with Celeste.

Well, no. "Regrets" is the wrong word, here. Celeste was getting a little too comfortable with him, and he's not really sad that's gone. But shit, she was such a good manager. After all, she landed him the Nickel Samurai role, and it's looking to be a cash cow.

The studio set him up with some dude who's not that interested in the job. He's... alright, and he definitely manages him, but he doesn't seem to be looking for opportunities. He kind of wants to fire him, but the dude's okay, and he doubts he's gonna get a manager like Celeste anytime soon. Sometimes you just gotta settle.

And he does. He's already used to his stagnating fame (well, he's not getting _less_ famous) by the time he gets a text from that friend of Celeste's who he met a million times. It's short and vague, asking if she can meet him during his off hours tomorrow. He considers it.

It's kind of risky, because he's got no idea what she wants to talk about and he knows that she was fucking in love with Celeste or some shit, and he's about to feed her a dumb excuse when he remembers two things.

The first thing is she's a manager, and she's being mentored by Celeste. And he really needs a better manager, right? Plus, he hasn't heard of her managing any celebrities, and he's kind of a big name (a bigger emphasis on the "kind of" than the "big," but still), so it could be a kind of quid pro quo thing.

The second thing he remembers is... a little stupid, honestly. It's the way she used to look at him when all three of them were hanging out, that smile on her face and that look in her eyes. See... he kind of finds her a little more hot that he admitted before, and she did like him a lot when they knew each other, right? He could read it off her face. 'Course he broke her best friend's heart, but that could lead to... interesting sex, you know?

Look, you can't blame him; if you saw her you'd totally understand.

* * *

So she definitely didn't come for sex or a job and she totally walked away unhappy, but man, did he love to watch her leave.

He tried to send out an opening to contact him again if she wanted to, but that chick was a mess and, well... maybe he should've really seen this coming. She and Celeste _were_ pretty close. But man, he's glad he saw her, anyway, so he won't wonder if he turned down what could've been an amazing fucking booty call.

He's fine that it wasn't, though. Not really any skin off his back. Have you seen his face? He's not wanting for pussy. Even though that one had a lot of a potential...

She and Celeste disappear after that. He's alright; it's not like he really expected to see them again, and Celeste left him with a pretty regular gig. He can settle for a while.

Or so he thinks, until he finds out Celeste's become Juan fucking Corrida's manager and he is _mad_. This is when he really feels that regret about dumping Celeste, because shit, she was talented as hell and she's wasting it on that asshole now.

He feels so _powerless_ , then, because it's not like he can do anything about it. Honestly, what's he about to do, make some elaborate plot to destroy his career? That's _stupid;_ he's not about to put effort into making sure that Corrida's doing worse than him. The whole point is that he doesn't have to. Corrida's a fucking hack.

He's still running on that faith when the Aluminum Samurai starts chatting with him in-between takes. It's not that rare of an occurrence, but he really doesn't enjoy it when it happens. That guy... he's not that interesting. There's a reason he's not the title character and he doesn't know his name.

"Hey, Engarde, you hear about Corrida?" he asks, and he groans inwardly.

"Yeah, dude, he's the Jammin' Ninja now, right?" He scowls. The way everyone's going around acting like he landed such a great role when he's a fucking guitar-playing ninja... Ninjas are supposed to be sneaky and shit! Why would one have a bright red guitar?

Still, he knows he shouldn't be that bitter. He was offered that role and turned them down. He's still got one up on him.

"No, man, that's not it. He's fucking your ex-girlfriend now! Isn't that hilarious? Guess he really does always get your sloppy seconds." He nudges him in the arm and laughs, but he's not really paying attention to him anymore.

Celeste's dating Corrida now? He's not really upset, because, well, the Aluminum Samurai's kind of right with the sloppy seconds thing, and he didn't _really_ like her. She was a good manager, but that's about all she really mattered to him.

But she's dating _Corrida_ , who definitely wouldn't date her if he knew he was dating Matt Engarde's ex... Man, what a card to have up his sleeve.

He smiles.

He is gonna mess with that fucker so bad.

* * *

So... Celeste dies.

He feels kinda bad, and it's a little weird, knowing that someone he knew before died, but... They dated a pretty long time ago, you know? Not like he really thought he was gonna see her again. His life's not that different.

Kind of fucked up she killed herself because Corrida broke up with her, though. It was... a pretty extreme reaction, honestly. She didn't do that when he broke up with her. Maybe he should feel a little guilty because Corrida broke up with her because he told him they dated, but he doesn't, really. Was he supposed to know she would kill herself? And, okay, he may have had a little too much fun with Corrida about having fucked his fiance before, but breaking off an engagement is pretty extreme, too. Maybe he thought a little that Corrida would break the whole thing off, but he didn't know for sure. Not like that was really his intention, anyway; he just wanted to mess with him.

He goes to the wake, though, since he's supposed to be a good guy and he dated her and everything. It's a horrible experience; it feels like the air in the room is a weight on their shoulders, pressing down on all of them. He hears all the eulogies, sees Celeste's mom (who he met shortly before breaking up with her) break down at the microphone, even sees Corrida give a speech. It's... stilted and weird, Corrida's speech - he'd say it's just like him, but shit, he doesn't really wanna be that kind of asshole right now - and he can't tell if it's genuine or not. It feels wrong that he speaks at all, though; it's like if _he_ spoke. He and Corrida... they're pretty big parts of why Celeste killed herself. It's kind of disrespectful.

But speaking of that... it really doesn't seem like anyone knows why Celeste killed herself. People have literally said that in their eulogies, "I have no idea why she would do this," and no one's mentioning Corrida breaking off the engagement. 'Course, no one told him about that, but he put two and two together after Celeste killed herself the same night he called Corrida to taunt him about being engaged to his ex. To not tell anyone, and then give a eulogy... Of course he probably was expected to, but Corrida's a colder man than he thought. Maybe his eulogy was so weird because he's feeling guilty.

And the thing about the eulogies - _she_ doesn't speak. He forgot about her, kind of, before, but when he entered the funeral house, he found himself looking for her. Not because he used to be into her or anything - that's really messed up and that kind of sex, it's a little too much for him - but he's... kind of wondering how she is. He remembers how much she cared about Celeste, and how much Celeste cared about her, and he knows they met in college but he feels like she should be speaking and she's not.

He goes to the reception not really planning to stay long, but Celeste's family receives him well, which is... odd. They tell him things like they're happy he found time to come, with the busy schedule he has, and he realizes that they have no idea how he broke up with Celeste. They don't really know anything about her life, do they?

He's polite to them even though he wants to leave, because he's him, and it's only when he's talking to Celeste's sister that it occurs to him to ask about why she hadn't spoken, Celeste's friend. She only tells him that she couldn't make it, which is... vague. It's not super important, but... Celeste never shut up about her, and she'd never shut up about Celeste. What happened so she couldn't make it?

He ponders it for a moment and considers asking Celeste's sister, but... Well, it's not really any of his business, and Corrida's been glaring at him the entire reception. It's time to leave this place behind, Celeste and all.

A part of him, though... It hopes that girl's okay.

His manager quits about a year and a half after being assigned to him, saying he's sick of him not respecting him or listening to his advice, and he's honestly kind of offended. Well, he's happy that guy's finally gone, but he's still offended. He's always been mostly polite to him, and he consulted him on the _big_ decisions, and okay, maybe he never really did what he told him to if he wasn't feeling like it at that given time, but it's not like that guy actually knew what he was doing.

Maybe the studio thought they were giving the rookie an easy first client because he's so charming and popular and all, but he's bored as hell. The Nickel Samurai's popularity has really plateaued and the novelty of being part of a franchise is wearing off. Especially since he's in a costume all the damn time; no one knows who he is.

He finds out later that they're assigning him another rookie, and he's annoyed, but he's knows he's gotta be nothing if not happy and agreeable. Sometimes, he really hates this persona he chose. He's waiting in his dressing room for his new manager and tapping his fingers on his vanity, contemplating whether or not it'd be possible to manage himself, when the door opens.

It's... her.

"Adrian Andrews!" he exclaims when he sees her, because somehow he still fucking remembers her full name even though she hasn't crossed his mind in six months. "What a coincidence, huh? Never thought I'd see you again, dude. 'Specially since you and Celeste pulled that disappearing act after we broke up. Guess I don't blame you, though."

He puts a hand on her shoulder, because she had this thing about touch that Celeste told him about. Physical affection made her happy, back then. He still remembers how she used to beam at Celeste when she'd put an arm around her shoulder, the way her mouth would gently curve upwards when he did something as simple as tug her wrist.

But he sees her stiffen under his palm and it's... weird. No... _everything's_ weird. The person in front of him is a ghost of who she used to be. Her expression is so cold; she doesn't look like she's even capable of those soft smiles he used to see on her face all the time. And the way she stares at him... her eyes are so hard. Something's off.

Well... Celeste is dead, right?

"How've you been doing? Didn't see you at Celeste's wake," he says, taking his hand off her, since it's making her so uncomfortable. She doesn't change. She's totally zoned out, and it's almost funny. The first time she meets her new client and she's already tuning him out.

It's... weird, because it's totally unprofessional to zone out while he, the person she's working for, is talking to her, but he doesn't mind at all. No, it's weird because he was so intent to leave Celeste and everything related to her in the past, but when he saw her, he was happy. Like, her just being here, even if she's cold and indifferent and doesn't seem to like him as much as she used to (she used to be so _happy_ to see him, even when he wasn't with Celeste), he's glad about it.

This is new. He liked her before, when he was dating Celeste, because, well, she liked him so much and she was so agreeable, never complaining about a thing. And she wasn't like most people, who spent so much time talking about themselves and their boring lives; if you asked her a question, she'd answer it, but not waste your time on any extra information. She'd just listen. The only exception to this was Celeste, but... one annoying thing didn't really ruin hanging out with her.

But when he liked her before it was the way that he'd rather hang out with her than someone else. He'd still choose nobody over her. But for some reason... he feels brighter now that she's here and he's not just sitting here alone anymore.

She's still acting weird, though He waves a hand in front of her eyes. "Hey, you okay?"

She jumps and he's... really got no idea what's going on with her. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Just asking how you've been. I heard about Celeste," he replies, frowning at her.

Her face goes dark, her facial expression going stiff except _something_ that he sees flash through her eyes. He can't put her finger on what it is, and in a second her demeanor falls back to cold and neutral. "I'm fine."

He can't really bring himself to believe her, but it's not because it feels like she's sad or broken; instead, it's something like this isn't really her, like nothing she says the way she is right now can be the whole truth. But if she's back at her job and it's been months... maybe he can trust that she's well enough. Honestly, it's not really any of his business.

He's snapped out of his contemplation when she quickly changes the topic, though he knows it's not because she saw something on his face; he's too practiced to let expression like that show. "But how I'm doing isn't important. We need to leave; you're due at the set by 3."

That quick change of topic and her closed expression; he can tell she doesn't want to talk about Celeste. He doesn't really mind, since it's her dead friend and they were never really that close, especially since he broke up with Celeste. As long as she's being his manager, he's alright. And maybe if she's not even doing that well at being his manager, he'll still be alright. Someone as pleasant as her is kind of rare, really.

And from what she said, it doesn't even sound like she's gonna be a bad manager. Actually, it's kind of funny; she really was Celeste's friend, wasn't she? She's just like her right now, that strict, laconic manner of speaking. For Celeste, it was such an act; she acted professional for a while, but a couple of the right lines and hands in the right places and she was eating out of his palm in seconds. But for her... he can't really see that happening. Not with their history. But he still doubts the way she's acting right now is genuine.

It really is funny, this charade she's putting up. She always seemed a little directionless before, but she does always need to find out what to do from other people, huh? That kind of weakness... He likes her, but he tucks it away in his mind anyway.

Just in case, you know?

* * *

"Hey," he says, spinning his chair around at the sound of the opening of the door. "Didn't think I'd run into you yet. You're pretty early."

"I come in at this time every day," she says flatly, putting her bag down on the small round table in the corner of his dressing room. "You're the one who's early."

She gazes at him with empty eyes and he wonders if she'll even ask about why he's there. She doesn't; instead she's pulling a magenta planner out of her bag and fiddling with her phone. They sit in silence for a while as he turns back to the scripts on his vanity desk, poring over lines he memorized the day before. This... isn't what he planned. He needs a segue.

"So, dude, you never told me what you've been doing since me and Celeste broke up." He sees her stiffen when he mentions Celeste, and he thinks about just how transparent she can be through that mask she refuses to take off. How clear it is that she's new at this, all this lying.

At the same time, though, she's so committed to it, the way she doesn't even look up from her cell phone when he speaks. This professional air... He wonders what's behind it. Is it that girl he knew before, who smiled so much and couldn't stop talking about Celeste once she got started? Somehow, he doubts it.

"I finished my studies and was mentored in management for a short time. Then I joined a studio and was assigned a client, and I've been working since then."

It's curt, even more curt than most of her responses to his questions. She's hiding something, and he would press it, but he doesn't really need to. It's not like he really cares about what she was doing, anyway.

"I guess I should've just figured that out myself, huh? Who was your first client, anyway?"

He knows the answer to this question.

"You," she says bluntly, still not bothering to look up from her phone.

He grins. "Wow, dude. What a crazy coincidence, huh? That it'd end up with you and me meeting again..:"

She peers at him through her glasses, eyes looking up at him in an indecipherable gaze. "I suppose so."

That's all he needed to hear.

He's doubtless now; she's got something up her sleeve that she wants to use against him. He... didn't really want to believe it before because he liked her a lot more than most of the people he had to deal with on a daily basis. He kind of wishes she'd just told the truth about that one thing, just this once. He'd be fine, slightly suspicious at most, if she'd said something along the lines of she wanted to work for him because she knew him already, but she flat-out lied to him.

It was just yesterday he'd found out, when the hiring manager ran into him in the hallway.

"Hi, Mr. Engarde," she'd said to him, and he'd meant to leave the interaction as a passing hello, but she looked like she had something to say, and well... She called him "Mr. Engarde." It was a small gesture of respect, but he appreciated it anyway, especially since pretty much everyone at work referred to him as Matt or Engarde, and most his fans were children who called him Nickel Samurai. "How are you liking your new manager?" Her voice was high, apprehensive. He couldn't really tell why.

He grinned at her, saying something about how she was "great, dude" because it was really how he felt. They'd been working together for a week at that point, but he felt the difference immediately. She laid down rules about how she expected to be consulted over big decisions and listened to when she gave advice and that kind of assertiveness was impressive. She actually cared about his career, actually cared about advancing it. The last manager he had like that was Celeste, and this new one... he definitely wasn't gonna ruin it by fucking her. He probably couldn't if he wanted to, anyway.

The hiring manager's face broke into a smile, "Thank God. I wasn't going to assign you another rookie, but she wouldn't stop asking to be your manager."

He nearly stopped in his tracks. "She... wanted to be assigned to me?"

"Yes! I offered her literally anyone else, but she wouldn't give up on being assigned to you. I must've spent an hour trying to talk her down... That's when I realized she'd make an amazing manager, rookie or not. I took a chance on her, but I'm not that surprised she didn't fail."

He took a second to read the hiring manager's face, but it was pointless. She wouldn't lie to him. Why would she lie to him about something like that, how she completely ignored his request because someone was a little too insistent?

Which made the person who was lying... his manager. The woman whose company he thought was pleasant, the woman who'd found him more opportunities in a span of a week than his old manager did in more than a year, was... lying to him.

He gave her the benefit of the doubt for a while, for those exact reasons, but now, staring at her emotionless face in his dressing room mirror, he knows it was an oversight. Or... he knew it was an oversight all along, ever since the hiring manager said those words to him.

How did he make that kind of mistake, to trust her immediately? Of course he's always known about how she wears a face, but he figured it was because she was mourning or being professional or something. She's been doing her job so well; was he supposed to somehow figure that she's been plotting against him anyway?

Why would she even do something like that? He knows she doesn't hold him in the fondest regard, considering the icy looks and empty interactions, but he's known that ever since he broke up with Celeste, and she can't still be holding a grudge about that. It's been more than a year. If she was really mad, she would've acted sooner, not waited until Celeste was in the ground to enact her revenge.

Or... Celeste in the ground... Is it because of that? But he went to the wake, and no one knew about the circumstances of Celeste's death, let alone how he'd goaded her fiance into breaking off the engagement.

But... she wasn't at the wake, was she? Shit... He can see it, Celeste making sure to say goodbye to person she liked so much. They were that close, he knows. The way both of them spoke the world of each other... It'd be a mistake to doubt her leaving without saying goodbye to her, especially since she hadn't even left a note.

At the same time, though, shouldn't she be Corrida's manager if she really wants revenge? That guy dumped her because of a little crude locker room talk. Maybe it was him who did the talking, but still...

Or... there is no "but still." She hates him. She's hated him since she walked out of his dressing room more than a year ago, when he saw her expression close completely. How broken she'd been...

Man, what an overreaction _that_ was. Maybe that's a thing with her and her friends, overreacting to stuff like break-ups. They're just relationships, after all. It's their own fault for trusting someone. See, he even spent a while trusting her, and now he's found out she's plotting against him somehow.

Just because he made a fucking phone call... Straws on a camel's back, huh?

"Why are you staring at me?"

Shit, he didn't even notice the way he's been eyeing her in his mirror. She's peering up at him again, and it registers just how cold her voice is, how much hate she must mask behind her even tone.

It hits him then: he should fire her. He really needs to fire her. She's fucking plotting against him, lying to his face about things that matter. He can't keep someone like that around.

And yet... he likes her, you know? She does her job really well and she's not unpleasant and he _likes_ her. After those past two years, he knows she's kind of a lot to give up. And, well, aren't all her cards showing? Well, all is an exaggeration, but he knows she's plotting _something_. All he has to do now is stay one step ahead of her.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asks again, and he didn't even realize he didn't answer. Not that it matters, anyway.

He flashes her a goofy smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I just zoned out. Sorry."

He watches her tsk and return to her work, scribbling something in her planner. She doesn't suspect a thing.

Well, of course she doesn't. He's Matt fucking Engarde.

Staying one step ahead of her... That won't be a problem at all.

* * *

He can't keep his hands off her.

He _knows_ how much she doesn't like it. He's seen her stiffen under his touch a million times, seen her move to brush him off and then stop herself. He doesn't want to be guy making her do stuff like that, doesn't want to be making her uncomfortable. He needs her to fucking trust him. But it keeps happening.

It's such bullshit. He's a polite dude, and it's not like he's groping her, but he shouldn't need be touching her so often. He doesn't touch people who like him this much! Luckily she hasn't noticed yet, but it's only a matter of time; she's not an idiot. That's why he likes her.

A hand on her shoulder, grabbing her bony wrist, ruffling that long, soft blonde hair... These things make him so happy somehow. He always retracts his hand after he sees her reaction, but he can't make himself stop doing it at all.

It's just habit, he knows, since physical contact used to make her like him so he touched her all the time, but habits aren't that ingrained in him, and he knows he's the world's best actor. So why can't he stop?

He... doesn't know.

He contemplates this as he watches her in the airplane seat to his right, completely knocked out. It's the first time he's seen her with her guard completely down and she's just... so serene, you know? Eyes fluttered shut, her face relaxed... He almost believes this woman could be the same person he used to know.

He should probably wake her up. She said something about how she had to work to do during the flight and couldn't entertain him, and then something else about how he had work to do after the flight and should get some rest, and now they're here... doing the opposite of what she said they should do. Actually, he called her serene before, and that was true for her expression, but honestly, the way she fell asleep was kind of funny.

Her forearm is sitting on the tray attached to the seat in front of her, next to an open planner and a pen that rolled out of her hand after she relaxed her grip. He'd leaned over and looked at it before; she fell asleep in the middle of the word "meeting."

Man... he's not gonna wake her up. She's fucking exhausted. The fact that she's here, asleep during work hours in front of him, proves it. He wonders why she even came with him on this trip; he just has to spend a couple of days shooting onsite in New York for some dumb special they're doing. He even told her before that she didn't need to come, but she insisted. His last manager never did anything like that, and he doesn't even think Celeste would've came if he told her she didn't have to and they weren't dating yet.

He thought it was a nice gesture, but with her... is it even nice? Why would she be nice to him? Maybe she's trying to find some opportunity for him in New York, but he doubts it. It's a big, busy city; scheduling something last minute for a name like his seems impossible.

If he's being real with himself, it's probably just a part of whatever plan she's got to bring him down. He still doesn't know much about it, but right now, she doesn't seem like she's doing anything suspicious. He's got an ear out about the things his manager's doing, but nothing weird is coming up. Maybe he should be suspicious but looking at her now... he doesn't really feel like she's got some plan she's ready to put in action. Plus, isn't she directionless anyway?

Well, if not that, it's probably just a ploy to get him to trust her, her being here and everything. And... maybe it's working, even if the only thing he really trusts is her incompetence. Still, she wouldn't do something like fall asleep in front of him to get him to trust her. He knows her and her facade all too well; she's all about strength and dependability. Right now, she's just a genuine mess.

What an awkward position to fall asleep in, though. Upright like that, arms on a flimsy tray... it can't be comfortable. He gently removes her arms from the tray and stuffs the planner and pen in the seat pocket. After putting the tray back up, he feels around for the blanket wrapped in plastic that she'd discarded previously because she didn't need it and rips it open with a pointer finger, then spreads it over her. Looking over his handiwork, he... wonders why exactly he did that.

Definitely not because her skin was so soft in his hands... It was because it's a nice gesture, and she'll realize what he did when she wakes up and maybe trust him a little more. Or... maybe it was the skin thing. But it's just such a contrast; most of the time you'd think she was made of stone, but when you touch her, you feel like you have to handle her gently because you might bruise her. She's so much smaller than you realize.

That's... it, he thinks. That's why he can't stop touching her. He likes the smooth touch of her skin and the silkiness of her hair because it reminds him of how fragile she actually is. How even despite her mask, she's still the person he used to know.

God, he didn't even care about her back then! It doesn't make sense, any of it. Sure, there was something about her smile and how open she used to be about her happiness, but... he didn't miss her when she left, never even really thought about her.

It's just the power trip, he decides. He likes knowing she's small and fragile and the same person she used to be because he could make that person do whatever he wanted. That's why he likes touching her.

But whatever. He doesn't need to touch her to know she's weaker than him; it's pretty clear from the way she acts and that ridiculous charade she puts up. See, he's got his own plan: He'll let her use her managing skills to further his career and right before she pulls the rug out from under him, he'll fire her. He'll get the best of everything from her no matter what her intentions are, just like what he did with Celeste.

Speaking of how he's gotta stay a step ahead of her, the magenta planner she carries around everywhere with her is unattended right now. It never really seemed that important until he saw just how protective she'd be of it, hunching over or sliding it away from him whenever he came near, even though he wasn't really interested in it in the first place. He pulls it out of the seat pocket and starts thumbing through it.

The stuff for the future isn't that important. He always thought it was a planner for the stuff he had to do, on account of she was managing him and everything, and while most of his schedule is penciled in, he thinks it's because she's going to be there, too. There's other stuff written down, dinner dates with friends or relatives, even a "call Mom" scribbled in every week on the same day at the same time. Cute, he thinks to himself.

He starts working his way back, trying to see where she ever conceived a plan to bring him down if she ever did. Not much sticks out, other than the fact that she only took job interviews at Global Studios, but he already knew that she'd been determined to become his manager. He's starting to get bored when he comes across a line that catches his eye: "last appointment with Dr. Anyaji!" It's underlined twice and starred and... he's heard that name before, hasn't he? Or... no, he's seen it, plastered on the sides of buses and subway station walls. She's that therapist!

He flips through the pages and sees appointments scribbled in weekly for what must've been at least half a year. Did she really need to go to therapy that long just because Celeste died? Wait... speaking of that... He flips to the week of Celeste's wake and finds "home from the hospital" scribbled on that Friday. What was she doing in a hospital the week of Celeste's death?

He glances at her relaxed face and remembers the way she used to smile and he _knows_. Shit... she's weaker than he thought. She's a lot weaker than he thought. For a second, he wants to ruffle her hair or stroke her face, but he's got her planner in his other hand and he knows he shouldn't do either. He looks back at the tiny book in his hand and closes it, stuffing it back in the seat pocket.

He's learned enough, and he's wasting too much of his time thinking about her. She's not doing anything soon; he doesn't need to worry about it. He looks out the window.

 _He's tapping his fingers on his vanity, and the door bursts open._

 _It's her, striding towards him. "Matt! I haven't seen you in a long time." She smiles, and a wave of warmth washes over him._

 _He looks at her, in a soft pink sleeveless blouse and a black pencil skirt. Wasn't she wearing that when they met? It feels like ages ago, now._ _"Yeah, dude, more than a year, right? How've you been?"_

 _She turns away from him, expression gone dark. "She's gone... I miss her a lot sometimes. But I still have you, don't I?"_

 _"I... guess you do." She's looking up at him so earnestly now, eyes behind those glasses so expressive. Before he realizes, he's pulling her into him, and the faint smell of vanilla floats its way into his nose. Holding her like this, his hand splayed on the back of her head and the other on the small of her back... It feels so natural, just as natural as ruffling her hair or grabbing her wrist._

 _But he feels her arms wrap around his waist, and he knows it's a foreign feeling. Her, holding him... He feels something blooming in his chest._

 _"Thank you," she says, and then she's tilting her head up so he can see those huge brown eyes and-_

"Matt," he hears a voice say, not softly but hard, either, and he feels smooth skin brushing against his cheek and... Shit! He fell asleep in t/he crook of her neck... and he thought _she_ looked vulnerable before.

Well, vulnerable's his whole thing, isn't it? Still... "Whoa, dude, did I fall asleep on you?" he asks, jumping off of her. "I'm totally sorry."

She's... embarrassed, somehow. It's not the same uncomfortable he's seen on her when he places a palm on her shoulder or ruffles her hair; it's more like a kid's face after you find them with a hand in the cookie jar. "It's fine," she says, an almost invisible tinge of pink coloring her cheeks. "As long as you've rested. But we've landed."

Did she... just let him sleep on her? He looks down at his lap... did she fasten his seatbelt? She could've just as easily moved him over or woken him up without him thinking her lesser, but instead she... took care of him. And she's not unhappy now, even though he touched her for so long.

No, he... shouldn't read into this.

"Thanks," he says. "You really conked out, too, huh?"

Her mouth thins into a line, and it's almost funny. "Yes," she says, looking down, "but if I get enough work done in the cab and tonight-"

He laughs. "Man, don't worry about it. We're in New York, and I'm just filming. You should relax here; it's kind of like a vacation, right?" He's ruffling her hair now, and right when he realizes what he's doing, he sees her face.

He swears her eyes have softened.

* * *

 _"Shit, I've been wanting this for ages," he says, practically ripping open her pink blouse, and shit, she's probably gonna be mad about that, but he's waited for way too long at this point._

 _He stares at her bare chest in awe; fuck, she's not wearing a bra? Was she- did she want this, the whole time? He can feel it going to his pants._

 _God, the whole thing's going to his pants._ Her _, on her back on his mattress, cheeks flushed and too embarrassed to look at him... He never thought he'd find himself here. He takes her chest in his hands, and her skin is just as soft as it's always felt, and he's been thinking about this ever since he saw her in that tight blue shirt. He squeezes her more roughly than he intends; he knows he has to be gentle with her because she's so small compared to him, but before he can even change the way he's touching her, she lets out a soft moan. She's... enjoying it._

 _Fuck, how is this so much better than all the other times he's done this before?_

 _He moves his mouth to her chest, licking at a hardened nipple and biting it gently until he pulls a moan from her soft lips again. God, what is it about that fucking sound? He doesn't even care about himself right now; he just wants to make her fall apart because of him. His hand is still on her other breast, palming and squeezing, erect nipple brushing against the base of his fingers. He pulls at the nipple then, tugs at it and flicks at it, waiting for a sultry moan. It comes, eventually, but he knows it's not enough. He sinks to his knees._

 _He plays with the idea of removing her skirt for a while, but there's just something hot about eating a girl out under her skirt. He pulls off her panties, modest and white, a stark contrast from her complete lack of a bra, but he still kind of likes them anyway. He tosses them to his side and pulls up her skirt. With two fingers, he holds the lips of her pussy apart and buries his nose into her. The black fuzz rubs against his face and she doesn't smell amazing, but he honestly doesn't give a fuck because he's eating out Adrian fucking Andrews. He drags his tongue up her pussy in one clean, slow swipe, taking care not to touch her clit. She tastes like sweat, but shit. She's_ dripping _._

 _He's licking light circles around her clit when he feels her hand thread through his hair, pushing him deeper in between her legs. He laughs against her pussy and she moans. "Matt... just a little more, please..."_

 _He obliges her, licking her lightly and nipping at her clit with his teeth, and he hears a scream of pleasure flood the room-_

He wakes up with a start, a cold bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. He sees the outline of his manager sitting up in the bed next to him, typing away on a laptop. Shit... just looking at her after a dream like that is hard; why does she have to be awake?

Having a dream like that at all... plus the one from earlier. God, it's her fault, you know? He was into her before, but ever since they started working together, he's been able to keep it in check... until now. When they were in the lobby-

"Are you alright?" she asks, interrupting his thoughts and still typing away, and it almost doesn't register that she's talking to him.

"Oh, um, yeah..." he replies hurriedly, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. The first traces of morning light are just barely peeking through the window shade. It's a little early to be up, but she's here working. He'd laugh if he wasn't so fucking uncomfortable.

"You were making sounds in your sleep. I thought you might've been having a nightmare. I nearly woke you up."

Looking at the light from the computer reflecting in her glasses, he doesn't really believe it. He can't really see her leaving that spot and stopping whatever she's doing anytime soon. Still, thank God she didn't; to have her wake him up after a dream like that? He doesn't know what he might've done. It's almost funny what she said, though, about him having a nightmare... She's so off-mark he doesn't know where to start. Not that he even should start. "I'm... gonna go take a shower," he says, starting to peel off his blanket when he gets interrupted.

"You should go back to sleep. You don't have to be up until twelve," she says, and he's a little confused because he thought it was his day off, but he doesn't really want to be here talking to her right now.

"No, I gotta, uh, take a shower," he says, and he's out of his bed and in the bathroom before she can reply, hastily taking off his white t-shirt and boxers.

By the time the cold water's beating down on him, he's mentally cursing his manager. It stings slowly on his skin, weak water pressure making the entire thing feel like torture. What bullshit that he'd end up hung up on her, when he could get practically any girl he wants.

It's her fault. She's the one that interrupted his conversation with the hotel clerk (after a long day of work, he'd like to add) and corrected his request for two rooms to one room, two twin beds. Saying something like she didn't want to waste company money... he's fucking _loaded_. But it's not like he's about to make her think she's not the one calling the shots.

She's the reason he had to spend the entire day with her, after a weird dream (and now weirder dream), the reason he had to stare at her in a pale blue camisole and pajama shorts that weren't super revealing, but made him wanna jump her after visions of creamy thigh and pale collarbone. God, what is it about her? She's librarian hot!

He takes a second to pull himself together. He set the water temperature to freezing because he wants to get rid of these thoughts; he's not about to jack off with his fucking manager fifteen steps away from him. And yet...

He jacks off with his manager fifteen steps away from him.

Well-needed release comes sweet and quickly and as he washes it off of him, he tries to figure out what he's going to do.

He doesn't really want to go back to sleep right now. He doesn't really trust himself to have an appropriate dream and... she's still out there. God, does he need to get away from her.

He's pulling a pair of running shorts out of a dresser drawer when she talks to him again.

"You're getting up already? It's only five," she tells him. "You have hours before you even need to be up."

"I was gonna go for a jog," he explains, pulling on his shorts. "And, about that... I'm pretty sure I'm not shooting today, dude. It's my day off." Shooting wouldn't be so late, anyway. Well... she's been his manager for weeks already; maybe it's about time she made a mistake. Not like it's one that even does him any harm. He'd rather think he has work and not than have work and not show up. He's got a laid-back persona, but something like that is a little much.

She frowns ever-so-slightly, as if the thought of a day off is ridiculous. Maybe she'd never explicitly told him, but he knew he wasn't shooting, and... he's not as clueless as he seems, you know? She of all people should really know that. "You're going to be a guest on a talk show. We need to be there by two." She tells him the name of the talk show he's going to be on, and he's incredibly impressed. It's one of the bigger afternoon talk shows, one with a healthy following of housewives, a demographic that complements his usual target audience of children really well. And in somewhere like New York City, too...

"Whoa! That's a really great gig." He moves to her bedside and his arm finds its way to her shoulder the way it always seems to. At contact, she turns to him, eyes widened almost imperceptibly; their communication this whole day has been mostly impersonal, and he guesses she got used to it.

After a second of her looking at him - her looking at him, her hair in a loose ponytail curling around the right side of her neck, glasses lopsided, eyes that tiny bit bigger - she relaxes, her professional mode comes back, although she's actually facing him now. "I know."

He feels a little mesmerized after drinking her in with his eyes like that, and he becomes acutely aware of why he hadn't done anything like this in their conversation earlier. He needs to leave, but he... needs to know one more thing. "How'd you get me a spot like that?" He has to be realistic. He knows he's the best actor alive, but he also knows he's no huge name right now and that his old manager wouldn't be able to get him a place on a show like that; he doubts Celeste even being able to do it. And there's something in the back of his mind, nagging him, telling him that this woman hates him and is plotting against him and now he's suddenly on a show he's not quite famous enough for.

"I found out early this morning that the person they'd originally planned to come on dropped out last minute, so I called to let them know that you were in the area."

It's... viable and explains why she was up so early, and her expression now is no more closed than it is usually. He remembers how just yesterday he fell asleep in the crook of her neck and she fastened his seatbelt for him and how she doesn't recoil when he touches her anymore, how her eyes widened when he touched her a second ago. And she's directionless, right? The way she was so frenzied and fell asleep in front of him and-

She didn't write it in her planner, he realizes. He feels warm relief spread through his body. She wrote everything in her planner, even shit she didn't want him to know, and she didn't write that. She's just an exceptional manager.

"Thanks," he says, rubbing her bare shoulder. A grin takes over his face, for once not calculated. Or... no. Shit. Honestly... it's not really like anything's ever been calculated when it comes to her.

"I'm just doing my job," she replies, pink barely visible on her cheeks. Her eyes drop from his.

There's a tiny blemish on her chin he never saw before, right under the corner of her mouth. He steps back. "I'm gonna go out now."

She turns away from him, eyes fixed back on her laptop screen. "Of course. Be back by twelve," she reminds him, and it's ridiculous to think he'd be out jogging for seven hours but he can't bring himself to make some light joke at her expense and ruffle her hair the way he'd usually do. He turns around, and he's pulling on sneakers when she talks again. "I'll be working."

He glances over his shoulder at his manager, knees bent and thighs pressing gently against her calves as she leans against her bed's headboard, staring at the computer in her lap. Her hair is so messy, and the remnants of yesterday's makeup sit at the corner of her eyes. He doesn't even know if she slept last night. "Dude, you should take a break. Chill out a little, you know? You already got me a great gig."

Her eyes dart up to look at him, half-interested. He says this kind of thing a lot, he knows, because he's got a persona and she's such a workaholic, but he means it this time a little more than he usually does. Maybe she sees it in his eyes or something, because she twists the end of her ponytail with a finger and replies, "I... might go for a walk later."

It's rare that she'd even try to placate him with a response, but it's not enough. "No," he almost whispers, and he hopes she didn't hear him as he closes most of the space between them. She's turning up to look at him now, eyes wide again. "I'm gonna jog for awhile, and... you should take a nap." He moves his hand to the corner of her laptop screen, grazing his fingers on the back of it. "I'll put this on the desk, alright? You gotta get some sleep."

She types out something on it for a minute and then nods. "Al... right," she repeats slowly, as if she's surprised she's agreeing with him. Honestly, he's surprised she's agreeing with him so easily, too, but there's a look in her eyes that he doesn't think he's seen before.

He closes the laptop and tucks it under his arm, watching her hair fall loose as she pulls out her hair tie. He turns away from her then, putting the computer down on the desk. "Hey, this is the first time you've been here, right? New York?" he asks her.

"Yes," she replies, a hint of a question in her voice.

"I'll be out for about an hour, but... when I get back and you wake up, I'll show you around. I mean... this is supposed to be like a vacation, remember?"

He's out the door before she has the time to answer.

She's a lump on the mattress when he gets back; the creak of the door opening and his short greeting did nothing to wake her. It's fine, because that wasn't his intention, anyway; she needs the sleep and he has to take a shower again. It feels a little excessive, but it's not like he could've _not_ taken a shower before. He wrinkles his nose at the thought of his last shower, but it's not a problem anymore. He's gotten rid of any pent-up energy, and they can go back to being normal again.

After he finishes showering, he opens the bathroom door to find her sitting up, blankets bunched around her waist. He notices her furrowed eyebrows and the hint of a frown tugging at her mouth; she's still in a daze. "Hey, you're up. The bathroom's free," he tells her, hanging his towel in the closet.

"Okay," she answers him, and in a second she's brushing past him, slinging a towel over her shoulder, and the bathroom door closes.

He's on his bed, cross-legged in white jeans and a black t-shirt, by the time his manager comes back out. He turns the volume up on the cooking show he'd been watching while she blow-dries her hair.

When she's done, they have breakfast at a diner on the corner of the block of their hotel. While they eat, she goes over a million rules about how he needs to act during his interview later, the things he can't talk about and the things he has to talk about. It's redundant, but he doesn't mind. He knows she likes it, feeling like she's in control, and he's better off with her thinking he's helpless anyway. It doesn't matter that she hasn't realized how likable he is, how easy it is for him to push exactly the right buttons and make a person fall in love with him, even if he's certain he did it with her, before.

She's still talking rules when he walks her out of the diner and leads her through the streets; she doesn't really care where he's taking her, he notices. Or she just cares a lot about his interview later. That means a lot to him, honestly.

"We're here," he says when they enter the lobby. Her eyes widen slightly, and he watches as the rules she'd been going on about leave her mind. "The tallest building in the city. Cool, huh?"

She makes a small sound of agreement, but doesn't say anything. Instead, she's _looking_ , dark eyes drinking in golden walls and high ceilings. This place... he knows it's nothing that special; it's the _lobby_ of a tall building. It's clear then, how she puts up the facade of living drenched in culture and manners, but she's really not used to things that come with the job he has.

The lobby is almost barren and the lines are short; it's what he planned. They'd been up early anyway, and he took her here because it was worth when it was empty when the place had just opened. He's come here before, once with his father. Honestly, it... doesn't impress him much, something like a view; he can see the city fine from the ground.

They're here anyway because Celeste had talked his ear off about how she dreamed of being in a place like this, the tallest building in New York City. A view like that, she said, could make her believe in magic.

He thought that was kind of stupid, and his manager isn't Celeste, but something tells him she'll appreciate it anyway. And they're in New York, so she might as well see it.

He doesn't count on the look on her face when they walk out of the elevator, or the tiny, imperceptible gasp that escapes her lips as she gazes down. Small hands gripping the railings as she leans over it, eyes wide and her mouth open ever-so-slightly... This is the most happiness he's seen on her in all the time they've been working together, the closest thing he's seen on her to the smiles he used to see.

He moves next to her, looking out on the city bathed in sunlight, trying to see what she sees, but he can't. He... doesn't like this kind of view, people small as ants and cars like they're parts of children's play sets. He stays there, though, standing silent and waiting patiently until she's finished seeing everything. The look on her face... he wants her to feel that way uninterrupted by whatever small talk he could come up with.

Eventually, she closes her eyes and turns to look at him, straight in the face, and a part of him thinks how much this experience was worth it, even if the view was as unimpressive as it'd been the last time he saw it. "Done?" he asks before she can talk.

"Yes," she answers, and he grabs her wrist and tugs her to the elevator.

The elevator ride is enveloped in a comfortable silence, and normally he'd settle into it, but there's something he wants from her. "Enjoy the view?" he asks, even though it's redundant because he'd seen the answer so clearly in her expression. He... wants to hear her say it.

"I did," she replies after a second. "It's beautiful, the city from up there."

"I'm glad you liked it, dude," he says, and it's not a lie.

* * *

She offers to take him to dinner.

It really shouldn't mean so much; he takes her out to dinner all the time, whenever he's filming on-location and she's come along with him, sometimes even in Los Angeles when they finish a story arc he's tired of or a big project. Sure, he never did that kind of thing with his old manager, but, well, there was kind of mutual hatred there, and it's not like his old manager cared enough to sit in while he films or come with him and find publicity opportunities whenever he went out of state to film somewhere else.

It's not a big deal to him, taking her out. He's got a lot of money, and his job now keeps it pouring in; he doesn't worry about stuff like that. Sometimes he wants to go out to eat, and sometimes he needs someone to go with, and his manager is there. His manager, maybe the only person he knows whose presence doesn't piss him off. Plus, he kind of likes seating her in the lap of luxury; she's so unused to it that he finds it amusing.

And, well, when he takes her to _really_ fancy places, sometimes she wears this little red number that clings to her curves and exposes the smooth flesh under her collarbone in the most _delicious_ way.

Or... No, he's gotten used to it, though. Not the dress, of course; he can't imagine looking at her in a dress like that and not feel his breath hitch, but this whole... sex-dream, wanting to bend her over a desk and take her thing. He's spent weeks in hotel rooms with her now, and as sexy as she looks in a pajamas or a towel, he's used to it now. It's better for both of them.

Their relationship grows with his career. Or... no. Their relationship grows with the time they work together. He thinks that maybe it would've happened even if his career had stagnated the way it did before. The first time he'd taken her out, that night she'd gotten him his first big TV spot as himself, she'd been so shocked by the extravagance of the restaurant that she didn't even want to order and he had to order for her. She'd tried to pay for her part of the bill... It'd been absurd to her, that he'd even do something like that. He made a note that time to take her out more often.

And he did, and these days... she's used to it. Conversation then had been stilted the way he was used to, but it's changed in a way that maybe someone else wouldn't notice. She banters with him easier these days, and she's a touch more honest when she talks to him. 'Course, she still acts like she's got a stick up her ass, but he doesn't really mind. Who would his manager be if she acted any different?

He used to look at her and only see the person she used to be, the person who could envelop you in warmth by turning up the corners of her mouth, but he... likes her the way she is now, too. The imitation of Celeste she puts on every day isn't perfect, and he can see her behind it through the cracks. The hateful-turned-affectionate sarcasm at his expense, the frazzled stress he hears behind short sentences when someone she's dealing with isn't being agreeable... Sometimes, these days, he pushes her buttons just to get her worked up because he thinks it's so funny.

Celeste would never have done anything like that; she never cracked under pressure or made jokes at his expense. When he made her fall in love with him, she'd look at him like he hung the sun in the sky every morning, her heart right there on her sleeve. Teasing him didn't even seem like something she was able to do, the way she spoke about him and clung to his arms when he walked. He thought it was annoying, then, but he wonders what it must have been like to have a a manager who thought the world of him. He can barely remember.

Still, he knows they've gotten closer, him and his manager now. He guesses the fact that she wants to take him to dinner proves it. That doesn't mean it doesn't completely blindside him, though.

It's the end of the day now as they walk off the set, and she's asked him out like it's a part of their routine, like she's asking if he's okay to do an interview or endorsement. There's no trace of that fluster he sees sometimes, when he innocently compliments her appearance or thanks her for being such a great manager.

(That's another thing, he thinks. Celeste was the picture of confidence; she'd never have to hide a blush.)

A part of him is saying that he should just say no, because it would be ridiculous to make her spend money on him, not when he hasn't been wanting for it for years. But another part is saying that she's willingly spending time with him, and it's such a huge difference from when she first came.

"Why?" he ends up asking, and it's maybe more blunt and insensitive than he wanted his answer to be. To respond to a request out of the blue like that... he's a little worried about how his manager might feel about it.

It's a ridiculous worry, he realizes quickly. She's her, after all. Her face is miffed more than anything, eyes asking him how he could possibly this stupid, and he honestly... doesn't really know what she's trying to make him get. "Your birthday's today," she finally says. "I thought you might have plans for the weekend, so I wanted to take you to dinner tonight."

He doesn't have any plans more than to go out to a club and maybe find some girl to fuck senseless, but it's not like it's different plan than most of his days off. He honestly forgot about the birthday thing. Ever since his dad left the country, he hasn't really had a reason to remember it. Parties are kind of extravagant, and he doesn't want to waste his own time putting on a face for people he doesn't care about. Sometimes he received gifts from co-workers or acquaintances, but they never really meant much to him. The only thing he's really wanting for is fame, and it's not like he's about to get that gift-wrapped and bow-tied.

He's not surprised she remembered, though. She's probably had that in her planner since she started working for him. But speaking of her and birthdays, he kind of wants to laugh. Hasn't she kind of given him fame, even if it's not gift-wrapped and bow-tied? Or... well, she's given him a little more than that, hasn't she?

He's snapped out of his mind when he notices her eyes shift. "I... need to pay you back for all the times you've gotten me dinner."

There it is, he thinks. The flush on her cheeks he'd been missing. He ruffles her hair lightly and smiles down on her. "You don't have to, dude. I was paying _you_ back for being such a great manager."

Her eyes turn up to look at him when his fingers touch her hair, and he sees her eyes soften even as a frown tugs at the corners of her mouth. "I was doing my job."

She's so... _funny_. In a good way. It's maybe why he compliments her all the time; she's not the kind of person to end up with a swelled head even if you tell her she's amazing over and over again. That, and it makes her face turn pink when he does it right. Just... she'd stopped acting weird when he'd pay the check whenever he took her out; he didn't have to wait until she was in the restroom to ask for and pay for the check really fast like he used to. He thought she realized it was normal for him, paying for something as small as dinner, but it turns out she was feeling guilty anyway.

It's so unnecessary, but he kind of appreciates it.

"Really well," he counters with chuckle. He... doesn't want her to waste money on something that he really doesn't need her to pay for. Yet, that part tugs at him, the part that wants to spend more time with her anyway, even though he spends nearly every damn day with her. He looks at the frustration on her face, and moves a hand to her shoulders. "Look, dude. I'll have dinner with you, but that's all you need to do to pay me back, alright? You don't have to spend money or anything."

"I can't allow you to treat me to dinner on your _birthday_ ," she says, and he wants to laugh because his father's never had a problem with that.

He's not about to lecture her on family traditions, though. "You can pay for yourself, okay?" he says, and he guesses he'll let her actually do that this time, since she's compromising, anyway. She starts to argue, and he thinks she's about to say something about how she's not giving him anything, so he cuts her off. "Look, having dinner with you is you giving me something, dude. I like spending time with my favorite manager."

"I need to do something for you," she replies again, not willing to just go along with what he's saying. Stubborn 'til the end, huh? Well, that's his manager, isn't it? He couldn't have her any other way.

Well... he _could_. It wouldn't kill her to learn to pick her battles. "Man, if you wanna do something for me, stop arguing. You've done a ton of stuff for me. It's 'cause of you that people see me on the streets and know about how amazing an actor I am, you know? You're always saying you're just doing your job, but no one's done it as good as you before. That's why I buy you dinner, not 'cause I want you buy me dinner back sometimes. Geez..." he says, running a hand through his bangs in stress.

Her eyes widen and he freezes. Shit! He hasn't made a mistake like that since... what? High school? What was it about her that made him make a million mistakes?

He lowers his hand, but he knows she saw them, the scars that he'd inflicted on himself so long ago, the ones that had made kids scared of him when he was younger. She's an adult, he knows, and she wouldn't be rude about it, but he doesn't want her to ask. There's no way to twist the story into something good, into something that a person like the one he pretends to be would reasonably do. And... he likes her, but he knows she shouldn't trust her, not even if he hasn't heard about her doing anything against him or she's doing something nice for him now. No matter what, she's still lied to him, and she still loves Celeste thousand times more than whatever she might think about him now.

She's been leading him, he thinks. She's been leading him the entire time they've been walking, and he's never really questioned what she's doing. He's just been... following her.

No, it's not an oversight. He's felt her warming up to him, _knows_ she's warming up to him, sees the blushes and feels her lean into his hands sometimes, just slightly, and... he would've known if she was planning something, wouldn't he? Everything she said to him seemed genuine, everything she said was true and made sense with the person she was and the things they've been doing together.

Or... he's in denial. Shit... he did let his guard down. Does he... need to get out of this now? God, he believes in her right now, and he knows she couldn't have planned that, _him_ making a mistake. Plus... she's not a good fucking actor, and he's got ears out. He'd know if she was up to something. He _would,_ dammit.

But... does she even want to spend time with him? After seeing the scars on his face? He always thought she wasn't shallow, but... how well does he know her, anyway?

He swallows.

But she... doesn't say anything, for a while. He sees her mouth turn down gently at the corners, and he sees it then, the pity in her eyes, and he knows that it's better than disgust or anger or curiosity, but shit if it isn't a thousand times worse, to be fucking pitied by someone as weak as her. She doesn't even know how he fucking got his scars and she has the audacity to feel bad for him? He's almost mad then, almost feels his mask shatter, but then her smooth hand is closed around his forearm.

"Thank you," she says, her head tilting to the side and her eyes looking down at her hand on his arm, "for... complimenting me so much. It's... been a long time since someone's been so kind to me." She pauses, looks up at him, looks back down at his wrist, and tugs on it, gently. "Let's go to my car."

He knows what it is, what she's doing. He hears how genuine her voice is, how embarrassed she is, and he realizes. It's like a trade; she sees his scars, and he hears her tell him something that she would normally never say to him. She's never touched him before, too, and when he felt her skin on his, it all disappeared, the rage building in his chest, like she took it from him. He's grateful, because acting like himself in front of anyone but his father would be a huge mistake, especially someone who's probably out to get him, but also because... he'd hate it, a little, to make her hate him and lose whatever relationship they had that he'd been working months to achieve.

He hates pity, but if there's anyone he'd tolerate it from, he knows it'd be her.

"Okay, dude," he says, letting her pull him along.

* * *

A week later, when he's out on his morning jog and some random tabloid interviews him and asks him if there are any women in his life that he cares about, he remembers how his manager had dinner with him on his birthday and how conversation had come easier than it ever did and before he realizes it, he's saying her name.

He remembers it.

Of course he remembers it. He's not stupid. Or, he _was_ stupid, when he let those girls give him bourbon and he drank so much of it without even realizing? That kind of oversight... It can't happen again. Getting drunk... from the way his manager's treating him, he at least doesn't give away his real self completely, but... He's worked too hard on being "refreshing like a spring breeze." His career is based around it. Without it, he's nothing. He's not giving it up for what, a night of inebriation?

And even if he doesn't act exactly the way he really is when he's drunk, he acts... too much like himself than he's okay with. It's hazy, but he remembers holding her face in his hands and that... kiss.

He'd never really intended for something like that to happen, but it had made so much sense at the time. At that moment, he liked her... a lot! She was _so_ pretty! He complimented the damn necklace he gave to her. He acts like such an idiot when he's drunk, somehow like even more of an idiot than he usually has to, and... he regrets the whole thing, really.

Except when her lips were pressing against his, her face so hot in his hands while she melted against him, that _desperation_ in her and-

And if he continues this train of thought, it's going straight to his pants.

What a fucking joke, that he thought he got used to it, got used to _her_. Like that kind of thing is even possible.

He examines her sitting across from him, absorbed in the diner menu, and he thinks just how weird it is that she's so _normal_ after all that, even if he had pretended he had no idea what happened last night at all. Yesterday, she was shaking under gaze, and now he's less interesting than a menu.

God, he was so happy last night, and he knows it's not just the fucking alcohol. When she kissed him back, when her jet-black eyes drank him in like a man in the desert... Yesterday, he felt like if he touched her the right way, with the right amount of pressure and in the right place, he could make her fall apart under him. He could... finally have her.

He never made a move before because even if she likes him more now, he knows there's a loyalty to Celeste in her that won't die. He wanted her to be his manager as long as she possibly could be, and his best bet was to just be nice to her, innocently, and hope that maybe it would be enough to make her question what she's doing. Hope that maybe it would make her not do anything a little while longer. Their relationship is too fragile for him to risk it for a good fuck, even if he's been wanting it for ages, now. Don't shit where you eat, right?

Plus, to try to get someone like her in his bed... How would that even work? In theory, it'd be hot as hell, his ultra-professional manager moaning underneath him, but there needs to be a way to get from Point A to Point B, and he doesn't think it's possible. He might be devastatingly attractive, but his manager doesn't seem like she cares about carnal pleasures, the way she brushes off the men who come up to her in the coldest way. He'd tried to step in once, when she looked uncomfortable, but she hadn't needed his help at all. These men, though... They'd come up to her at lavish parties, all chiseled jaws and tuxedos, and she'd turn them away without a second thought. Even women who seemed like they had less-than-pure intentions with her learned about her disinterest in the least subtle way.

Sure, they've got some kind of relationship, but... he doesn't want to become another one of those people she turns away coldly. Last night, he thought maybe he wouldn't be, but... They're still here, aren't they? Point A.

He remembers what he called her in that interview with that no-name tabloid reporter: "the only person who won't swoon over me."

Maybe he was right.

They talk business over breakfast, about how he'll have to sign some autographs because they released a Nickel Samurai children's book and how he'll be dropping by a children's hospital for publicity. It sounds boring as hell, but he does also like being surrounded by people who worship him, so he guesses it's kind of a trade-off.

When they get the check, the waitress slips him his number, and it's such an audacious move, considering he's spent the whole meal staring at the woman across from him and not even noticing her, but when he does notice her...

She's blonde, straight hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her white button-down highlights her generous chest, and even though her eyes are blue and she's clearly white, not Asian like his manager is, he can make it work. Honestly, if he has to stare at her in that tight fucking sleeveless turtleneck she always insists on wearing and not get any one more more day, he's convinced he's gonna die. After a night like that...

He flashes her a smile and winks when he pockets the slip of paper, commenting to his manager that he'll need the hotel room that night. She lets him have it without much thought, and he guesses he shouldn't be surprised since she's never made a huge stink about that kind of thing, but it does kinda cut deep that she doesn't care and they were _making_ _out_ last night.

Man, unrealistic as it is, he wishes she volunteered to take that waitress's place. Because really, how is she not as affected as he is?

* * *

The waitress is splayed across his mattress, stark naked and blonde hair loose and out. She really does almost look like his manager, glasses off and hair down, but the key word is almost. Her eyes are too blue, murky pools of disappointment, and her smile's too wide. He... can't really get into it.

He closes his eyes and presses her lips to hers, gently, just like he'd do it if he was kissing his manager, and pretends for a second that it's her. That she couldn't keep it to herself either, that she needed him the way he-

"Matt?" a voice calls from behind the hotel door and he curses himself. Didn't he ask her to let him have the hotel room tonight? Shit, shit, shit...

She says something, but he can't stop staring at her curves underneath that shirt and those tan arms and he's suddenly incredibly aware that he's just wearing his boxers and... Shit, she's looking at him weirdly. What did she say, a wallet? He says something about going to get it and closes the door.

The blonde bitch is sitting up now, asking him what's going on, but he brushes her off, focusing on finding a wallet on the kitchen counter and heading to the door. The weird look hasn't left his manager's face, but shit if he's got time to worry about that, so he just hands her the wallet and says thanks and- Fuck, his voice is really high, and fuck, did he get hard from just looking at his manager, he's so fucked...

No, no, this isn't a problem. He's got a naked woman on his bed right now and she's here to fucking take care of that. He grabs her shoulders and pins her to the bed, hooking a knee on either side of her hips. She makes some playful comment about how he likes it rough and it's almost unbelievable how much he _does not care_ and shit, she's not fucking _angry_ , so he shuts her up with his lips against hers. The kiss is fierce and hungry and he _needs this_ , for all those times today his mind's flashed back to his manager's soft mouth. His hands start roaming her body, and he plays with her tits pretending they're someone else's, kneading and squeezing. She keeps trying to moan or talk dirty but all that he cares about is that her voice is _wrong_ , too high, too soft, too open, so he presses his lips harder against her.

He's tired of foreplay by then, as he pulls off of her and rolls on the condom. When he pounds her into the mattress with abandon, the way he wants to take his manager but knows he wouldn't, not someone he who matters to her, he still pretends it's not her, that it's his manager screaming with pleasure and coming around his cock, and it's almost good enough.

It's not, though.

God knows it's not.

* * *

He's leafing through tabloids when he finds a picture of his manager sitting across the table from his biggest rival and ice grips his chest.

He never really thought she was discreet, but... She's so clearly bad at what she's doing, it's almost pathetic. Or... no. Is _she_ really the pathetic one in this situation?

It's him, isn't it? The guy who had a million reasons not to trust her, but did it anyway. For such dumb reasons, too; something like he liked her and it used to make him happy when she smiled. Because he, what, liked the look in her eyes when he touched her and the feel of her skin?

The feel of her skin... He examines the picture. Both of them, out to dinner, Corrida leaning in to whisper something to her while she listens intently. It's an incriminating shot. He sneers.

So she's fucking him now? He thought she had better taste, for one thing, but also... wasn't she easily influenced back then? She had a huge devotion to Celeste and they were just friends... Really close friends, but still just friends. If she does something like fall in love with Corrida, he knows that kind of power over her could make her do anything.

God, like Corrida needs power over her to make her do something against him. She _hates_ him, doesn't she? Forget the dinners, the soft eyes, the what, one kiss they shared that she pretended never happened with no problem? She lied to him about why she's there and she's never told him the fucking truth. The "easier conversations" he thinks about... Honestly, he's being fucking delusional. He knows the bare minimum about her, and shit if she's ever said anything real to him. He thought it was _cute_ that she's so professional all the time, that she's so shit at pretending to be unfazed at everything?

He should've been more suspicious. He saw her talking to Corrida at that one party, but _he_ came up to _her_ , so he figured it wasn't really important. Plus, she didn't look that interested anyway. But he sees now she fucking was. But he should've noticed more, too, that her phone had been going off off the hook lately and the calls were going on longer and longer.

He didn't even know she fucking _liked_ him! Whenever he'd go off on diatribes about him, she'd tell him to shut up because it was unprofessional, but never disagreed with any shitty thing he said about Corrida, even conceding his point when he said he was the better actor. It didn't seem like there was loyalty there at all.

Well, he thought he'd seen loyalty here, didn't he? And now she's fucking his rival.

The next day he sees her, they're sharing a hotel room and he taps her phone while she takes a shower. He's already paid someone to break into her apartment and tap her landline, so he doesn't need to worry about that. He scrolls through her texts, sees Corrida's in her phone under the name "John" and he wants to roll his eyes. How is it possible that she'd be such a good manager but so bad at this? It's almost like she wants to get caught.

Her texts are clinical, though not any more clinical than she's been with him. Corrida plays off like an obsessive boyfriend, constantly texting her to give him a call or saying shit like "I need to see you." Her replies are short but agreeable, a flurry of "ok"s and plans and... "come to my apartment, wear a hoodie." It's fucking idiotic, to get mad over them meeting, but imagining her letting his oaf of a rival into the place where she lives, late at night... They must be fucking. They must've met when he was dating Celeste... God.

Jealousy is ridiculous, but she'd choose _Corrida_ over him? The way she refers to him as Juan and agrees to meet him and takes his every fucking call, even in the middle of a conversation with him, it's like a sick way of rubbing it in his face.

He wants to snap her phone in half, the frustration in him. He's so mad now, the icy rage building in his chest and the betrayal he knows he's stupid to feel but feels anyway. He was going to tap her phone and scope out the relationship, see whether this was actually something to worry about, but it _is_. If she's dating Corrida or fucking him or whatever, he knows he'll turn her against him like _that_ , if she's not against him already.

He knows now he has to fire her. He knew a long time ago he had to fire her, ever since he found out she lied him, months ago, but he has to now. Enough excuses, enough "she's so much more open now," enough "remember the time she kissed you back?" She's nothing! God, everyone's a dime a dozen, and he knows a million girls who will kiss him back and who he won't even have to seduce; they'll fuck him because he's _him_.

And she's _already_ elevated his career. He's invited to huge parties now, written about in famous magazines, being hailed as the dude with more potential than all the up-and-comers on silver screens. He's paid enough attention to the way she works that he could manage himself at this point. He doesn't fucking need her! He doesn't fucking need anyone!

The bathroom door opens then, and she walks out, a goddess in a towel, hair sopping wet and sticking to her bare neck.

He puts her phone back on the night-table. It's time to use it, the resolve he's built up while she was gone. He starts to say her name-

"I've been thinking about the time you said you wanted to be in a spy movie," she says as she smooths lotion down her calves.

It's so out of the blue, that comment, and it doesn't even occur to him that he shouldn't let her finish. "That was months ago, dude," he says, his voice too low, oddly wrong, as that anger tries to find its way out but doesn't.

"I know," she says, pulling modest white underwear on underneath her towel, "but I've been looking for roles for you ever since then." The towel comes off then, and she pulls on her camisole.

"Didn't you say it was impossible?" he asks as the fire in his chest dissipates. She's been spending months trying to find him a role that he'd only said he wanted once, months ago. She cared enough to remember, and she cared enough to try to find him a job just because he said he'd enjoy it. He would've been okay with anything. He... honestly just wanted her to watch the movie with him, the time he said that to her.

"I thought it was, but..." She pauses, walks over to her bed and sits to face him. "I can make it work. They're being stubborn about it, but I'm confident I can convince them to fit all your scenes to the time that _Nickel Samurai_ 's off-season. If you do it, it'll be intensive hours, a lot more shooting a day than you do now. You'll lose a lot of your vacation."

She's talking to him seriously, looking at him straight in the eyes, and he realizes how much work she commit herself to because he said something on a whim.

"And..." She looks down, traces of shame in her expression. "I know you said you wanted to be the lead, but that's not something I'm able to do, now." He watches her avoid his gaze and blame herself for being unable to get him a lead role in a movie, even though he's only just become popular. "But it's a famous franchise, and you'd be fairly important if you were in this movie; not the lead, but your name would be on the poster. Do you want the role?"

He's smiling now, somehow. Where did the anger go? He doesn't... really care. "Geez, of course I want it." He's leaning in closer to her now, fingers brushing her shoulder before he realizes what he's doing. "I... can't believe you'd do that for me."

There's pink in her cheeks now, and she won't look at his face. "I was just... doing my job." He wants to laugh. It's so played out, that line, but somehow... it's still cute when she says it.

"I know."

He... He can fire her tomorrow.

* * *

"I fucking love you," he breathes out, and the second he says it, he knows it's a mistake.

God, this whole thing is a mistake. He was supposed to fire her today. Or... no. He was supposed to fire her every day, every day since he heard that phone call where Corrida had asked her if the press conference she's told him nothing about was prepared, where Corrida had celebrated the fact that he'd finally bring down his demonic rival (he was really hung up on this "demon" thing) and she'd agreed, albeit in few words. It'd gotten worse, that it was more than just fucking, that they'd actively been working to bring him down.

But there was something about her that made his anger go away, something about her that made all his negative feelings disappear. Every day he'd find a reason to push firing her back.

Today, he was going to do it, though. He'd brought her to his house along with a bottle of wine because if he had to let her go, he wanted at least get to finally fuck her. Her hands wrapped around the neck of that wine bottle... how could he _not_ get that image in his mind?

He's messed up already, though. He was supposed to have sex with her and then fire her; maybe do it a little more politely than it sounds, maybe make up a rule about employee fraternization and say they need to stop working together because of that, while still leaving room for her to contact again, but... never say "I love you." That's... the opposite of what he was supposed to do.'

Honestly, it must be the first time he's said that since... since he'd said it back to his mother, a million years ago, and... look where that got him. But it's not the same; he knows he just said it in the heat of the moment, after finally holding those round, perfect breasts he'd always see spilling out of camisoles in his hands, after taking those pert nipples in his mouth and licking and biting at them, after making her fall apart under his fingers and swallowing her moans like a man starving. He's... waited a long time for this. That's the reason he'd say something like that.

His thoughts are interrupted when she speaks, in the lowest whisper. "You don't." He almost thinks he's misheard her when he feels her untangling herself from him.

He looks at his manager, ravaged in a way he's dreamed of, but it's not what matters now. Her mouth is pressed into a line, and her eyes have gone cold. Before he realizes, they're sitting next to each other, clothes hastily put back in place. His arm's somehow found its way to her shoulder, her body so stiff it's like touching a wooden doll. He hears himself, in a voice more gentle that he's used to, saying, "Adrian..."

The air in the room has changed completely. She's turned to ice, so much colder than he's ever seen her. " _You don't_ ," she says, her mask gone now. There's a hate she's not bothering to hide searing slowly through her words, through the atmosphere, and he... doesn't know what she's mad about. He's never seen her this angry before. "Why would you say something like that, after everything? After everything you've done to Celeste?"

He's confused for a second by what she's saying because she's never brought up Celeste before. There'd been some unspoken agreement that they don't talk about what happened in the past, that it was a horrible kind of thing that they shouldn't touch. But if she's being honest now, and he's firing her today, anyway... he might as well be honest with her, too. If she wants to talk about Celeste... they'll talk about Celeste.

He takes the hand that was on her shoulder and uses it to push his bangs back, putting his scars in full view. She flinches, only slightly, but she doesn't say a word. Well, isn't that what he liked about her? He... wants to laugh, now.

"What did I do to Celeste?" he asks her, drawing his words out slowly, not bothering to hide the hints of a patronizing tone.

"You..." He can see her eyes sparkle despite the darkness of the lounge, but he knows it's not for a good reason. To see her crying... He's made her fall apart in a way he's never really wanted to see. The rage though, the hardness in her words... She's not as weak as he thought. "You're the reason she's dead! Don't lie to me... I know everything, Matt!"

He can't help the laughter that rings out, cutting through the atmosphere. He sees her rage disturbed for a second, something like fear or discomfort creeping in her expression for just a moment, and then disappearing. The fact that she'd be scared of him annoys him a little, but... he was right, when he thought she was cute; she's such a _contradiction_ , the way she can be so accomplished and intelligent when it comes to her her job but so clueless when it comes to things like this. Pushing a piece of hair behind her ear, affectionately as he's ever been with her, he whispers, "My manager..."

On the tips of his fingers, he feels a shiver run through her, and he's aware just how much power he has over her in that moment. He doesn't want it, though. The shiver he feels then isn't _right_ , and he's mad now that she'd be afraid of him, after everything. She kissed him back so fiercely and trusted him enough to let him treat her roughly and just a moment ago she'd been begging for him, and _now_ she's scared? Because he told her "I love you"?

No, he realizes. That's not it. That got her mad, but that's not it. She's scared of the scars.

Ice grips his chest. She's just a bad as everyone else. God, he should've known. He always does this, always says shit like "I should've known," but he trusts her anyway. What the fuck is wrong with him?

He doesn't remove his hand from her ear. If she's going to be scared of him, he'll give her a reason to be. Maybe then he'll scare her off completely and she'll stop fucking with his head. "If you knew everything," he says, drawing the words out the way he did before, leaning over her and brushing circles with his thumb in the shell of her ear, "you'd know you'd know the only thing I did was call Juan and tell him that he'd be marrying a woman I've dated."

He wants her to know how wrong she was when he turns her away. He wants her to understand that when she loses her relationship with the man she kissed so hungrily, the man who could make her shake with arousal by looking at her the right way, it's for no reason. He wants her to know that she doesn't know anything.

But she's still mad. Her eyebrows furrow as her mouth turns to a pronounced frown when she takes in his words. He can feel the fear underneath it, but the rage in her is undeniable. "We both know she _killed herself_ over that."

She's fucking _delusional_. There's a line between cute and annoying, and she's crossed it. How does she not realize she's a hypocrite? "Did she?" he asks, words coming out of his mouth like poison. "See, I _know_ I've done bad things. I know calling him that day, three days after they got engaged, it was kinda petty. But, you know, _I_ thought she killed herself because her fiancé couldn't get over the fact that she had an ex-boyfriend."

The anger is wiped clean from her face, eyes widened and pink lips parted ever-so-slightly. He watches as understanding sets in, maybe even regret, and he should feel triumphant, but he doesn't. There's a sour taste in his mouth. He hasn't won. He's losing her.

Or he's already lost her, to Juan Corrida.

"Adrian," he sighs out tiredly, "I'm not the reason Celeste killed herself. I think you have me confused with the person you're sneaking around with behind my back."

She still doesn't answer him, guilt or surprise or _something_ brimming from her eyes, and he knows he can't bother with whatever it is anymore. He takes his hand out from under her ear, and stands up, walking away from her. He needs to finally leave her behind. "I'm gonna take a shower. Don't forget to lock the door and turn off the TV when you leave. And..."

We shouldn't work together anymore. I'm firing you, because you've been lying to me since the day you started working with me. I need you to leave, because I don't want to work with someone who's afraid of me. I never want to see you again, because you're just like everyone else.

"I'll see you Monday."

His feet move faster then, maybe trying to work faster than his resolve, but she calls his name and he freezes, turning to look at her.

There's a second of silence, confusion on both their faces, until she tells him, "Happy birthday."

He remembers it then, where he was last year, when his manager saw his scars and didn't ask anything about them, when she tried to make it better, but never treated him any different afterwards. He thinks about her now, the way she's seeing him, acting completely different with the angry lines that run down his face in full view, and how she's still taken the time to say something kind like that. Even after the conversation they've just had.

A genuine smile finds its way on her face when he thanks her. He's an idiot, that he was able to think for even a moment that his manager could be just like everyone else. She's so much different. She's Adrian Andrews.

She's Adrian Andrews, and he can't imagine his life without her.

* * *

He wins the Hero of Heroes Grand Prix, and he thinks to himself that everything he's spent weeks working for will be lost soon. He doesn't know if he minds.

He knows he'll miss her, though. He thinks maybe, after all of it, he'll tell her... tell her how he'd realized he fell in love with her, sometime when she never treated her differently after that night. Maybe she hates him, but maybe she'll understand, maybe she'll forgive him, even a little. Maybe, if he's lucky... he won't have to lose her.

Before, he'd been holding on to hope that maybe she'd cancel her plans and stop working with Corrida, but she never did. He didn't do anything, though; never confronted her about, never tried to find some way to cancel the press conference under their noses. He'd even found the number of a contract killer, and he knew it'd be easier, to just call it and get that asshole Corrida out of the picture, but... he never even saves that number to his phone.

He trusts her. Not to care about him, not to do things to protect him, but he trusts her judgment. If after that night, she still thinks he's a terrible person... he probably is. No, he... knows he is. The woman whose smiles used to be so soft and warm... He's the reason she doesn't smile like that anymore, isn't he? He's the reason she doesn't smile at all. He broke her without even realizing, and then he fell in love with her. That's fucked up on a thousand different levels.

So if she wants to end his career here, after he's worked years and come so far... she has every right to. He won't stop her.

"Matt!" a gravelly voice calls behind him, and he turns around. It's the guy from that exercise program, shit if he remembers his name. He's smiling wide and friendly and... he's not sure what he wants. With a pat on the back that's too hard, even for someone athletic like him, he asks him, "Or maybe I should be calling you Mr. Engarde now, right?"

"Both of them are fine, dude," he answers, even though he does kind of prefer the second one. He doesn't really know who this guy is, anyway.

The man squints, confusion in his eyes, but he shakes it off pretty well, coming back into himself pretty quickly. "Of course! Anyway, congratulations on the win! Nice to see the Nickel Samurai come out on top."

"Thanks," he says, still wondering what he's doing there. "You want an autograph?" He reaches into his pants pocket for the permanent marker he keeps there, just in case, and waits for him to give him something to sign. The whole thing's kind of pointless, though, since his signature won't be worth very much for long.

He's squinting at him again. "Uh-"

The man's interrupted by a deep voice bellowing through the hall. It's unmistakably Corrida's voice, rage pouring through his hotel room door. "Stop lying to me! You really think I believe that _you_ made a mistake? What kind of idiot do you think I am? Now what are we going to about the press conference later? Don't tell me you're using this for _him_ now, going to make it another publicity stunt for the Nickel Samurai? 'I'm here to announce I'm saving _puppies_ , and _orphans,_ and I played Juan Corrida for a _fool_ -'"

Shit, is he... talking to his manager? He looks at the man next to him. "Dude, I think you'll have to meet me later. I have to handle this. My manager's in there."

Corrida's yelling again, and the man looks at him with concern. "Maybe you shouldn't-"

"Dude, my _manager_ is in there," he says, and the man finally nods and leaves the hallway.

He listens for a second to Corrida's yelling. There's a shuffling sound accompanying it that scares him. Corrida has a temper to be reckoned with, and he's almost as strong as him. His manager... She's tiny.

"-I should've known you didn't give a damn about her! She was your best friend, and you'd spit on her memory by helping your demon client. You're-"

Fuck, he's talking about _Celeste_ now! That dumbass... It'll get her mad, he knows. It's the one thing that would shatter that mask completely, and the things he's saying... Corrida is this mad now, and she's not even fighting back. If she starts yelling at him, the things he might do to her...

Before he realizes, he's opening the door and pulling her out.

* * *

"Are you proud of yourself?" a voice asks behind him as he washes his hands in the restroom, and he knows who it is immediately.

He turns around, eyes him lazily, the tux and frown on his face. Fitting, for a loser like him. "I mean, I guess it was a pretty good piss, but I wouldn't say _proud,_ " he replies, because he doesn't have time for him right now, in a public fucking restroom. Sure, right now it's only open to hotel guests, but... a public fucking restroom?

"You know what I mean," Corrida sneers at him, and he wants to laugh, for how easy it is to get to him. "I'm talking about _Adrian Andrews_." He draws out the syllables in her name, putting on a strong emphasis like it's a taunt.

He doesn't let his shit-eating grin falter, but he knows if he goes any farther with this he might crack. "Sorry you weren't a good enough fuck for her to stay with you, dude, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't taint her name with your mouth."

"Ha!" Corrida says, and it's barely a laugh. "As if I'm the one tainting her. And what did you say, you think I was... _fucking_ her? There really are only two things in this world that you care about, aren't there, Engarde? Fame and sex." Corrida smiles, mouth closed, and he clenches a fist. He wants to punch the grin off his face.

He's got him uncomfortably pegged; she brought him fame and he'd wanted to fuck her for so long, hadn't he? But that's not why he likes her; he'd been prepared to lose all of it for her and he can get sex anywhere. He likes her because of the way she smiles, the way she leans into his touch, the way she'll toil endlessly just to do something that might make him happy. He likes her because of the kindness in her, burning so warm and pure.

He's not telling Corrida that, though.

"I'm not fucking her, either," he ends up saying, and he knows it's a weak defense, but... it was a taunt! She's not some kind of sex doll to him. "That's not why I don't want you to talk about her."

"Ha!" Corrida laughs again, and what he wouldn't give to never have to hear that sound for the rest of his life. "Feeling guilty? It doesn't matter if you're _fucking_ her."

"Then what _does_ matter?" he asks because he has no idea what Corrida wants from him. Then he hears how it sounds, and... "No, I... Just keep her name out of your mouth, dude. Stay away from her. I have a lot of people's numbers, and I don't have a problem with calling them if someone tries to do something to my manager." He keeps his voice even as he talks, cold nonchalance dripping from his words.

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" His laugh rings through the room, grating against his ears. "I'm not mad at _her,_ Engarde. She's done me evil, but I know anything she's done is just because of you. But you know what? You're incredibly funny. I'm surprised you didn't go into comedy." He grimaces; what a cheesy line. "Do you really think the person who's going to hurt her is _me_?"

"Dude, what are you talking about?" he asks, dropping the grin, but changing his face to more peeved than confused. He's... worried, though. He doesn't know where he's going with this, and he has half a mind to leave, but he's not about to give Corrida this win.

"'Dude,' 'dude,''" Corrida mocks him, "'dude, we don't have to keep up with the _facade_ while we're here.' I'm trying to speak to you like an adult. Speak to me like one."

"Man, what are you even trying to tell me?" he asks, keeping his expression neutral even though he's brimming with frustration. Meandering fucking Corrida. "Listen, I've got a party to go to. Do you have a point, or can I leave?"

"The _point_ , Engarde, is that you're a demon and you're going to destroy her. You're going to corrupt that strong, beautiful woman into a horrible... broken... mess." Corrida pauses in between each of those last three words, drawing them out slowly so the image can sink into his mind. And it does, even though he doesn't want it to. He sees his manager in the back of his mind, finding out her friend has died and trying to kill herself in a million ways, pills, ropes, knives, rooftops... He wants to squeeze his eyes shut but it won't do anything, and that kind of weakness in front of Corrida... "And you want to protect her? What a _joke_ ," Corrida says, waving a hand in the air.

He hates the implications he's making, that he'd ever do anything to hurt his manager, and those horrible images... He keeps his mask intact, but he knows he's about to break. "You know, you've used the 'demon' line a million times. Maybe you could tell me something that actually makes sense."

Corrida mocks him again, but he doesn't do him the pleasure of paying attention to it. "Keep making fun of me; we both know I'm telling the truth. She loved Celeste more than herself, and while I faked that note, you and I and _Adrian_ all know that her hatred for you was very real. Do you think it'll be easy for her to love you _and_ Celeste? A girl so _weak_ emotionally... I can only imagine what that would do to her."

He wants to yell at him, that she's chosen _him_ , that she's over it and she cares about him now, but he can't make any words come out. Everything he's saying, it's completely true. Juan Corrida... He knows too much. This is why he's always hated him.

"Oh, but does she even love you, _dude_? Or are you going to ruin her life because you've convinced her to fall in love with a persona?"

Corrida's still fucking smiling at him, and before he even realizes, his head is turned to the side and he's decked him in the jaw. "Shut _up_! You don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

It's still on his face, that grin, but he knows punching him was a mistake, even if he deserved it. "At least I got to see the real you," he says as he rubs his jaw, and everything is wrong in that second, that _he's_ the one mad while _Corrida_ is pleasantly detached. "Remember what I said. You might think I'm just saying this because I hate you and I just _love_ messing with your mind, and I don't deny that for a second, but... she's a good woman, Engarde. The way Celeste would talk about her... She might be the best person either of us know."

As he watches Corrida's retreating back, he clenches his fist and thinks that for once, he's right.

* * *

There are three things about the first time they fuck that he doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget.

The first is that it's a million times better than anything he ever dreamed, that the feel of her around him, unabashed and wanting him so much, is ethereal. He feels like a different person in that moment, when her hands crawl around his chest and she fits her mouth around his cock so perfectly and she _begs_ him to keep fucking her, because how could she ever need him so much? How could she take him with such ferocity and determination, without a hint of confliction?

The second is her smile, that soft smile that flashes on her face for a second when she laughs after he asks her if he can fuck her when she's already sucked on his dick. God, is that absolutely not how he'd imagined seeing it again - especially since he hadn't been able to imagine her giving him head even in his wildest dreams - but God, is it absolutely as soft and warm and happy as he remembers. He thinks that he wouldn't have a problem with losing everything, his fame, his money, his name, if he could have her by his side for the rest of his life, smiling like that.

The third is that, after all of that, after he has the best orgasm of his life and sees her smile again and has everything he's ever really wanted right beside him, she cries into his chest, and it's clear that she hates herself because she loves him. But her cheeks are so soft, stained with tears as they are, against the heat of his chest, and she fits so perfectly encased in his arms. He's happy she's here, even though she's crying, even though she's tearing herself apart.

He tells himself it's not his place to make her choices for her, that he'd tried to tell her that she'd be better off without him but she wanted him anyway, but he knows that that's not why he hasn't fired her and told her to leave. He knows it's got a lot more to do with the way she smiles and how she takes his breath away in that little red dress and the warmth he feels when he's in the same room as her.

He's never been able to let her go.

* * *

He tries apologizing to her, once, during a time when her smiles start disappearing again and all she is is professional. It happens, sometimes, and usually he never says anything because he doesn't know what to do. Sometimes he stays close to her and rubs her shoulder or embraces her, but he can never tell if it helps. This time, he thinks maybe taking this risk will help her, but he's wrong.

"It doesn't matter," she responds, expression gone cold. "I'm not the person who can forgive you for that." He rubs her shoulder then, sliding closer to her on his couch, and tries to pull her into a tight embrace when she stands up, his arms slipping from her body. She's silent a second, looking down on him and then looking at the door. "I need to go. I'll see you on Monday."

She starts to move when he gently curls his fingers around hers. "Stay with me. I won't talk. I won't do anything." It's ridiculous, what she's reduced him to, but he wouldn't be able to stand it, that he made her leave with his words. He just wants her here, next to him.

For a second, he sees her consider it, brushing his fingers with hers, but she pulls her hand away. "I need to be alone," she says, words hard as steel. He watches her retreating back helplessly as she picks up her bag and heads for the door, considers saying something but knows that it would only make things worse.

When the door closes, he know he deserves it.

He... doesn't really mean it, when he apologizes. He can't make himself want to undo anything that he did in the past years he's know her because it's everything he's done that brought him here. It's everything he's done that brought her to him.

God, is it messed up. He _is_ sorry, for a lot of things, especially that he'd done something that hurt her so much that she stopped smiling for such a long time, but where would they be if he'd never goaded Juan into breaking off the engagement? Where would they be if... if Celeste never committed suicide?

She would leave him if he ever said something like that to her, he thinks. But he also thinks that she realized it, a long time ago, that he doesn't work the way other people do. That the only thing he felt when she described how she felt about Celeste was that it was exactly how her felt about her. It was impossible for him to connect any of what she was saying to that woman who never let go of his arm and couldn't ever seem to stop talking.

He thinks about it sometimes, what his life would be like if he called Juan that night. Celeste would be married to Juan then, and he'd probably still be the Nickel Samurai. He... doesn't think he'd ever meet her again, if he met her, and he doesn't know if he would've started to feel the way he did. Maybe she'd still be his manager, but he remembers asking for no rookies and he knows she didn't like him anyway, back then. And she'd be too in love with Celeste to even see him, anyway.

He hates himself for thinking like this. It's pointless, first of all, because life's not what-ifs and it's not like he could bring her back anyway, but that's not the real problem. He knows he should be- No, he _wants_ to be the kind of person she deserves. He wants to understand how she feels and do everything for her, but he's so _selfish_ , so disgustingly and horribly absorbed in what he wants, that he can't regret the things he's done.

( _that he can't let her go_ )

The truth is this: If he'd never called Juan that night, Celeste would be happy and married, and maybe she'd be sad that she lost the person she was in love with, but she'd still be happy to have her next to her. She'd still be happy to have her in her life. He's doubtless that she'd still smile the way she always used to. And... he'd be fine. He'd rise in popularity, even without her; he'd find someone just as talented or he'd just get famous a little slower, and he would still have everything that mattered to him, fame and women, like Corrida'd said to him months ago.

The truth is this: He'd rather live in this world, the one where she was damaged so irreparably, than the one where he would have everything he wanted and worked for and she would never have been hurt so badly, just because this world is the only one where he gets to fall in love with her, where he gets to _have_ her.

The truth is _this_ : She'll always be too good for him.

* * *

"Are you happy?"

It's been a day of work and three days since she walked away from him, and she's back to normal now. She laughs at his jokes again, leans into his touches, and smiles at him when she thinks he can't see her. But they haven't left his mind, the things he's been thinking about in the time she's left him alone, and he remembers when she used to always wear a mask. He's worried she might just have gotten better at doing it.

They're standing in his dressing room as he wipes makeup from his face - some new story arc they've been trying to do where he takes off the mask - and she's discussing something about work with him that he's not really listening to. When she hears what he says, she stops talking and her eyes get bigger for a second, and then she's plucking the makeup wipe from his fingers and lacing her fingers through his, pulling down his arm and standing on her toes.

It's weird and it's awkward, but then her mouth is covering his, soft as ever, and he can't think about anything else. Her kiss is so _shy_ and he almost melts into it when he remembers what he'd been talking to her about before and pulls away.

It's kind of funny, because he knows that kissing him spontaneously like that is a page out of his book and it's adorable that she'd copy him like that, but he knows that it's not really the time to get distracted.

"No, I... I want to talk to you," he says, putting his hands on her shoulders and holding her at arms-length. There's surprise on her face and _geez_ , that she's this shocked he didn't jump her after she kissed him, but he knows that it's his fault he's always starting things at any given moment.

"Matt," she says, eyebrows slowly starting to furrow, "I love you." Her eyes have narrowed now and she's so clearly confused, the way she's rubbing the makeup wipe she holding in between her forefinger and thumb, faster and faster and faster. There's a smudge of white greasepaint on the corner of her turned-down mouth.

He realizes absently that this is the first time she's ever really said that to him, and it must be big for her to say something like that, but it doesn't matter to him as much as it should. He feels like he's known it a long time, somehow.

"You didn't answer my question," he says as he lets go of her shoulders, his voice probably too cold. Absently, he realizes it's the first she's ever told him that she loves him, and while he knows another time he'd be so happy he'd probably end up jumping her or something, he... doesn't feel anything. Or... no. It's not nothing, when the words eat away at him and the hole in his chest. He just wishes that she'd just said yes then; he just wishes that for once, something in this relationship could be easy, could be guiltless.

Of course he's glad to know she loves him, but it's not about whether or not he's glad. He wants her to be okay. He needs to do what's good for _her_ , for once in his life.

She finds something in his expression, he thinks, watching as she puts the wipe in her hand on his vanity without looking away from him. Her palm finds its way to his upper arm, and then she's rubbing his arm painfully awkwardly, moving it up and down, up and down, pushing the sleeve of his black t-shirt. It's rare that she ever does something like this and she's so _cute_ , how weird she is about trying to touch him. He... wants to do a lot of things, but he settles for doing nothing.

A smile finds its way on her face, small and tired but still exactly what he fell in love with, and then she starts talking. "I always knew you were bad at remembering things," she says, a quiet warmth in her voice, "but I told you a long time ago. You made me feel okay again, after everything."

"But it hurts you," he responds, unable to look in her eyes, unable to look anywhere but the floor when he's being this honest, "to be with me, doesn't it? You hate yourself when you're with me. I-" He puts his hands on her shoulders and pulls her into him, resting his head on hers, and he shouldn't, he shouldn't, he _shouldn't_ be pulling her closer when he says something like this, but... "I hate seeing you like that, Adrian. If I'm making you feel that way, I..."

She _laughs_ then, the weirdest mixture of mirth and sadness. "You know how complicated it is. I was in love with her, and now she's gone, and there are times I miss her more than anything, and... you know why I can't go to you. You're right that it feels wrong sometimes, that I hate myself sometimes, but..." Her arms wrap around him then, tightly around his waist. "It doesn't mean I don't want you here or I don't need you here. My life is better because you're in it."

She buries her face in his chest.

"Matt... I don't want to lose you, too."

* * *

"Wow! That was your best performance yet! When you sacrificed yourself at the end to save Sayo's life... What a great send-off for the Nickel Samurai!"

The tiny girl bounces as she speaks to him, energy flying off her like sparks. She's still chattering on as he smiles at her wordlessly, and he absently wonders on her clothing. That robe she's wearing... It looks Japanese, and he thinks maybe for a second she's cosplaying since Neo Olde Tokyo's supposed to be Japan, anyway, but a movie premiere party isn't that kind of event, and it's not like the outfit's actually from the show. She doesn't really seem to care about social norms, though, the way she doesn't let him get a word in edgewise. He's seen her before, he thinks, even though he can't really remember where. He'll probably mention it to her anyway; fans usually love stuff like that.

She's trailed behind her by a real motley crew, a kid in the same clothes as her, maybe her little sister but not that it really matters, a blue-suited porcupine-headed lawyer, from the look of the badge pinned to his suit jacket, and that guy from the kid's exercise show, Will Powers. He hadn't recognized him before, but his manager whispered to him who he was a while ago, and he finally understands why he always acts like they know each other now. He was the Steel Samurai, and he remembers that guy giving him a lot of tips about how to follow up on his role when he'd just started. Kind of hard to recognize him without the suit, though.

"Maya," the lawyer mutters in a furious whisper that he probably thinks he can't here, "other people still have to talk to him."

"You're no fun, Nick," she complains, and even if she doesn't seem to agree with the weird haircut dude, she's stopped chattering, so he's grateful for that.

He smiles at her, taking her silence as his chance to cut in. "Thanks for the compliments, dude. You know, I think I've seen you guys before," he says, and the girl's eyes widen and he knows he has to cut that off, so he hurriedly asks, "You want me to make this out to... Maya?" holding out the picture she'd pressed into his hands earlier. She nods eagerly and he does the signature in a second, handing it off to her.

"Thanks! I can't wait to see what you do next!" she says as she walks away, and he notices the little girl clinging to her arm.

"Uh, do you want one?" he asks, because he's supposed to be nice to kids and she's been staring at him a long time without saying anything.

She smiles at him shyly and says, "You're a very good actor," as her friend tugs her away. The lawyer nods at him and flashes a polite smile behind her as he follows.

"So, that's the last we'll be seeing of the Nickel Samurai," Powers muses as he lays a friendly hand on his shoulder. "You had a good run. Thanks for keeping the Steel Samurai legacy alive, kid. It was a great ending."

He's about to answer when he hears his manager's voice behind him and turns his head. She's talking to that girl now - Maya? - and he knows that she's probably regretting agreeing to come with him here. She really hates interacting with his fans, and one as loud as her... She won't have fun with that. It'll be entertaining, though. "He's a pleasure to manage, with a nice disposition," she says, her voice slightly softer than it usually is when she's talking about work. "I'm lucky to be his manager."

He smirks a little. They're talking about him! Of course, there probably isn't much else for those two to talk about, but it's funny nonetheless. Hearing her pay him a compliment, in work mode... It's rare and he's definitely gonna tease her about it later.

"I heard you're a little more than his manager," Maya says, waggling her eyebrows, and he watches as his manager's cheeks light aflame. "Didn't you guys come together?"

The little girl gasps from below her. "You are Mr. Engarde's special someone? I see... So that is why the Nickel Samurai doesn't end up with Ms. Sayo..."

"Y-Yes," she says, way too flustered for a seasoned professional like her, and he laughs to himself. "I suppose I'm lucky to be that, too."

Powers says something quietly then, and he remembers where he is, that he's got autographs to sign and fans to meet and he can't spend all day staring at his manager, even if she's complimenting him and he kind of wants to hear every nice word she's saying. "I didn't catch that, dude."

"Just, since you brought her here as your date today, I was a little surprised." Powers talks with a weird somberness and satisfaction, like he's given the topic a lot of thought. Maybe it should be weird, because he doesn't really know the guy all that well, but he doesn't really care. Honestly, he's surprised, too.

His manager's always been strong and professional in the face of the public, but that doesn't really mean she likes _being_ in the face of the public. Even standing near him while he talks to fans is more than she usually does, even though at those times she's just across the room watching him and texting him instructions.

Once, he'd spoken about her to a magazine once and she was really in a tiff that time, even though it worked out in the end. Ever since then, they've been a couple unofficially, which hadn't really been that hard, since they spent all their time together before, but... you can't really fault a guy for wanting to show her off. Especially someone like her. So he asked her to the movie premiere on a whim, fully expecting her to say no.

Instead, she just muttered something about how she needed to buy a new dress, which she didn't let him pay for or choose, saying his weird obsession with her red dress proved that his taste left something to be desired. That one was a little harsh, but she went with him and he's showing her off right now, so he doesn't really mind.

She looks like a goddess right now, hair down and loose the way he likes it and the new red dress falling around her ankles. He hadn't seen it until today, since she stayed true to her word and didn't even think about factoring him in her decision. It's still simple, but it's kind of an elegant simplicity, and even though he still thinks she looks best in that dress he'd fallen in love with her in, she still takes his breath away. She... really looks good in red.

"Ah, sorry if that's weird," Powers says, waving his arms in front of him and smiling sheepishly. "I have a weakness for celebrity gossip."

Matt shakes his head. "No, I know what you mean. I... didn't think she'd come either." He's being weirdly honest now with this guy, but maybe it's okay, since he just admitted to him that he reads about his life in magazines.

Powers is looking over him now, doubtlessly peering over at the woman in question. "You know, I didn't think you two had that kind of relationship, but after seeing you go after her like a real action hero that time at the hotel... I should've seen it coming!" He laughs. "That must've worked out, then, didn't it?"

He follows Powers' gaze to the woman in the red dress, flustered as the little girl looks up at her with stars in her eyes and the other one teases her relentlessly. She catches his eyes for a second and widens them, a silent plea for help, and he laughs.

"Yeah... it did."

* * *

"So," he says, hanging his white suit jacket on the coat rack by his door, "I heard I'm a 'pleasure to manage.'"

She reaches behind him and swipes the jacket away. "That doesn't go there," she chides him as she starts walking deeper into his house, "and I was just doing my job. I need to say things that flatter you in public. You're my client."

He hooks an arm around her from the back, resting his chin on her head and touching the sheer red fabric of her sleeve with his fingers. "You're never gonna stop saying that, huh?" He leans down, his lips near her ear. "Doesn't matter. I've got things to 'flatter,' too."

She wrenches out of his grip at his words, a sigh escaping her lips. "That doesn't make sense. And at least let me put your jacket away before you jump me."

Shit... he really should've focused more on the "pleasure" thing than the "flatter" thing. He can still make up for it, though! Following her as she weaves through his mansion effortlessly, he pleads, "Come on, we've been busy lately, and, you know!"

She sends him a look that says that she most certainly does not know and opens the door to his room. She starts fishing a hanger out of his closet when he takes his jacket from her hands.

"I'm not a kid," he says, taking the hanger from her, too, and putting his clothes away.

She peers at him through her glasses with narrowed eyes. "You would've left it there and let it get wrinkled," she responds flatly.

He has to concede that point, even if he could say something about how that's what irons are for and it's _his_ house. He doesn't really want to mess with her after she went out with him and everything. "You're right. Thanks, Adrian," he says, pressing his lips to her forehead, his hand on the back of her head. "You take care of me."

She looks up at him when he moves away, eyes big. "You said that to me once, a long time ago." He shoots her a confused look as he sits on his bed and tugs her over, and she looks away from him as she moves. "When you were drunk and kissed me the first time."

He smirks at her next to him, remembering the times he had to be drunk to do anything with her. Back then, he wouldn't have believed that this could be his life now. "You were wearing a different red dress, then, right?"

"I really don't understand your obsession with that dress," she says peevishly, and he knows she thinks it's weird, but he's not gonna be ashamed about it.

"Can you blame me, though?" he asks, leaning over her and brushing a thumb over her bare collarbone. "It was the first time I got to see any of this." He kisses the base of her neck slowly, tasting the sweat on her skin.

"Matt," she says, clearly trying to sound annoyed even though his name came out in a heavy breath, and he knows he's got her. He moves off of her neck and tilts his head to hers, covering her mouth with his. Her hand comes up to his hair, pulling him more firmly against him and he thinks about how much he loves it, the way she can go from the professional to _this_ in seconds.

Her tongue brushes against his bottom lip and slips into his yielding mouth while he pulls down the top of her dress, exposing her bra. He messes with the hooks, the task of taking it off almost impossible while he's swallowing her tongue. She laughs against him after he tries for a while and then pulls away, unhooking and taking off the bra herself.

He holds the underside of one of her breasts in his palm, feeling the weight of it under his hand, and starts tweaking a nipple until he feels it harden under his fingers. "You have the most fantastic tits," he mutters under his breath, and he watches his lover's cheeks go pink.

He never really says things like that out loud, but he thinks them every time he sees her. She's just so beautiful. He's so lucky now, that he can have her so often, hold that beautiful body in his hands and see her cute face come apart. He's been with her a while now, but he knows he'll never get used to it, the way her chest feels in his hands or the way it sounds when he makes her moan. She's... really perfect.

"Why are you saying something like that?" she asks, her voice coming out in whines as he pinches and prods her nipples. He digs in a nail, a move he knows she likes, and she yelps.

He leans down next to her ear and whispers, a smile breaking out on his face that he can't help, "I told you. I've got things to flatter."

Her face contorts and he swears she's about to hit him, so he pins her down on the bed and moves over her, biting her nipple gently in the way he knows makes her go crazy, hoping she'll forget about his dumb joke. A hand is on her other breast, palming it roughly, and a short whine escapes her lips. He smiles on her chest. He really will never get used to this.

She starts grinding against him as he moves on top of her, kissing her breasts and her collarbone and her neck. She's so desperate for something more now that he's tempted to make her wait, but the look on her face and the feel of her body moving under him are making his dick strain against his pants. He doesn't think he has that kind of control.

He stands her up then, thinking about how sure, the dress makes her incredibly beautiful, but fuck if it's inconvenient as hell, and she's already beautiful so it's not really fucking necessary. He fiddles with her zipper and finally pulls the dress off so he can see all her curves, run his hand over her soft stomach, get the full view of those creamy thighs... Before he can do anything, though, she's messing with his clothes, undoing his bowtie and unbuttoning his black dress shirt. She tosses the shirt somewhere on his bedroom floor and he wants to jokingly scold her for it, but he wants to fuck her more, so he works on getting his pants off instead.

When they're both naked and she's lying flat on the bed below him, he leaves a trail of kisses from her neck to her navel until he's staring at her, head between her thighs. He pulls off her plain white underwear and traces a finger up her slit, her juices leaving his finger wet. "You're so wet, Adrian. Guess I really am a pleasure, huh?"

Before she can threaten to kick him or something, he digs in, sucking hard on her clit. He's starting with full assault. He inserts two fingers in her, not bothering to do it slowly, and she cries out. He moves his fingers faster and faster as he sucks and licks and right before it seems like she's about to come, he stops, pulling out his fingers and closing his mouth. "Matt!" she cries, gripping the back of his head and trying to push him his face into her pussy.

"Hey, we've got time, you know?" he says, but he moves back in, licking the lips of her pussy agonizingly slowly, circling the rim of her vagina, but not going anywhere near her clit. Her nails dig into his scalp.

"Matt, _please_ ," she begs, and he thinks about how the only time she ever says "please" to him is when they're having sex. He's... surprisingly okay with that.

"Well, since you're asking so nicely," he says, and he knows she's probably gonna kill him later for teasing her so much, but she's falling apart under his mouth and fingers _now_ , and he's a real in-the-moment kind of guy.

He kisses her clit then and slips in three fingers, her warm, dripping hole taking them in easily. He pumps her slowly and moves his lips gently on her clit, making sure that her feeling lasts. When she finally comes, she screams, and he laughs to himself, pulling his fingers out and moving up to swallow the sounds she's making. When they break apart, he starts positioning himself at her entrance and licking his fingers lazily when he sees her frowning. "Don't do that," she says, voice ragged, and he frowns.

"I kinda thought this was what we were leading up to," he says, but he knows if she doesn't want to do it he's not going to. Another day with him and his right hand... what's new?

"No," she says, "stop licking your fingers like that. It's... weird."

He starts laughing. "I like the way you taste," he says, and she's blushing again and holy _shit_ is he in love with the woman on his bed right now. "Wanna try?" He waves his hand by her mouth and the look on her face is way too disgusted for someone who likes sucking his dick so much, but he knows saying something like that to her would just be an easy way to get hit by his manager. He wonders why she thinks it's such a big distinction, but honestly, all he really cares about is how cute she looks right then. "I'm just kidding. You'd probably just taste my saliva, anyway."

She's still frowning and he decides he wants to kiss it off her face, totally forgetting what he was doing a second ago. She yelps when he kisses her, but melts into it as quickly as she usually does, fingers threading through his hair and holding his mouth to hers. He breaks apart from her, looks at her slightly-parted lips and dilated pupils, and breathes, "Adrian, you're so fucking hot."

"Am I another thing you have to flatter?" she asks, trying to make her voice sound dry even though all he hears is her out of breath.

Man, he... can't really tease her anymore. "No, I meant that," he says with no lilt to his voice, and when her face goes red, he pushes into her, gripping the back of her knees. He moans when he does it, unable to help it; she's so deliciously tight around him and hot and wet and warm. He stills, trying to feel all of her.

He stays like that for a second and then she bucks up against him, and he knows she wants him to move. God, she's so insatiable, the way she always wants to be fucked so hard, but it's worth it for her face when she comes and that scream he hears. He pulls out completely and then pushes into her again quickly, and she yelps. He sets a relentless pace then, fucking her faster and slamming into her so hard he's sure one of them will have trouble walking tomorrow. (Hopefully it'll be her because then he'll get to carry her around and it'll be cute.)

He feels it when she's about to come, and moves a hand over her breast, tweaking and kneading as he fucks her. He feels himself about to slow down, but then she's screaming and he finds a second wind, fucking her harder with an even pace. For a second he's almost worried he's pushing her too hard, but before he can contemplate it, his vision goes white and he's having the best orgasm he's had in a long time.

When they're done and he's laying next to her, face by her cheek, he says, "Hey, Adrian?"

"Yes?" she answers, and he pulls her into him.

"Thanks for coming to the premiere with me. I'm... really glad."

She kisses him on the cheek and doesn't say anything for a while, and he thinks she's fallen asleep. When he looks down on her, though, he sees her peering up at him through her glasses. He takes them from her and tells her that she should go to sleep, but she doesn't say anything. "Hey, what's up?" he asks her, wondering why she's acting so strangely.

"Are you okay?" she asks him. "Even though you're no longer the Nickel Samurai?"

He smiles at her. Was she worried? That's probably why she went with him, then... Man, she really does take care of him. "Aw, did you think I'd be upset? You know I'm not really a sentimental guy. Plus you lined up those jobs for me. I appreciate you asking, though." He moves his hand up to ruffle her hair. "Honestly... as long as I've got you, I think I'll be okay."

* * *

She's brushing the area around his right eye with her thumb, and he knows she's had a weird preoccupation with it for a long time and that preoccupation definitely intensified when he started slicking his hair back around her at times they were alone (including sex - she's done some weird things), but her hand there still feels strange to him.

He looks at her, bathed in afterglow and the thin layer of sweat on her face making her shine, and thinks about just how close they are, their noses less than an inch apart. Usually they sleep a regular distance, but she's studying him now and he took her glasses off before they had sex, so they're probably staying this way for a while. They've been together so long that he should be comfortable with her whenever, but the distance is awkward. He feels like he should be kissing her or something.

"What happened to you?" she says quietly, and it's clear from the absent tone in her voice that she probably meant to just think that. She asked him about his scars maybe once before, but she never prodded him when it seemed like he didn't want to answer a serious question. She left his scars alone the way he'd left Celeste alone, until that day he found her asleep in the cemetery next to her grave.

He guesses if they've cleared the air on Celeste, maybe they should clear the air on this, too. "You... really want to know?" he asks her, leaning forward and accidentally touching his nose to hers.

Her eyes widen, disbelief clear on her face, probably since he never really wanted to talk about his scars before. That probably was the one topic they talked about less than Celeste. She moves her hand from his eye, resting it on his shoulder. "Not if you don't want to tell me," she says, avoiding his gaze.

He smiles weakly, the lack of effort making it seem more like he's baring his teeth than grinning. "No, it's... just not a good story. You might not like me after you hear it, I'm-" He meets her eyes for a second, and then blinks and looks away. "I'm not a good person, you know."

"I already said I would marry you. You don't need to be so insecure." She's smiling at him now, warmly, almost amused that he'd say something like what he said. It's meant to be reassuring, but... she hasn't heard the story yet. "I'm not going to stop caring about you after we've been together so long."

"I..." He kisses her nose. "Okay." Her hand finds its way to his, and she rubs circles into the back of his hand with her forefinger. "When it happened, I was five years old. I was kind of a loner, then. I was used to hanging out by myself since I was an only child, so I just played and stuff on my own in class. People seemed to like me even if I didn't talk to them, so it was alright.

"That changed when some kid transferred into my class halfway through the year. For some reason, he really latched on to me, and wouldn't let me spend a second alone. Every second he'd be there, trying to tell me how great I was, and it was okay for a while but then I couldn't stand him. Ignoring him didn't work, asking him to leave didn't work, and then my mom got so ecstatic I'd made a friend that she invited him over. I wanted to pretend I liked him, since it made her so happy, but when he was over, he did something really stupid, and I flipped.

"I can't remember what he did - it was like ripping something out of my hands or something, but it was the final straw. I pushed him on the ground and held him down, and then I..." He swallowed. "I scratched him. I was so mad then, so I dug my nails deep into the side of his neck until they drew blood, and I dragged them while he screamed. I told him he should've listened when I told him to leave me alone.

"My mom was there when it happened, and she didn't stop me. She just watched me, open-mouthed and crying. She kept yelling shit at me like 'What did you do? What did you do?' and..." He looks at her face, sees her biting her lip but can't read anything off her expression. "I know I say I don't really care about people, but I loved her, you know? I was fucking five. She was my _mom_.

"So I dug my nails into my forehead and I did it to myself. And I kept trying to tell her it was okay, we were the same, it was okay, but she kept fucking _crying_. Kept saying there was something wrong with me. It was ages until she stopped, ages until she thought to take us to a fucking doctor. The kid was passed out by then. I was awake, though. I was awake the whole time.

"When my dad came, she kept yelling at him about she had to send me to someone to get me fixed, and I was already at the hospital, so I knew she wasn't talking about that. He argued for me, though, he kept saying that I was fine, that it was bullshit that I needed help. The next night, she tried to take me away from him, tried to get me fixed, but I didn't let her. I didn't want to go with someone who thought I was broken. My dad found out about it, and the next time my mom left, she went alone and didn't come back." He breathes out and looks at her face, expressionless and silent.

"She never contacted you again, even after you became famous?" she asks him, and it's completely not what he expected her to say. That's just like her, though.

He shakes his head. "I never saw her again." He… doesn't want to think about stuff like that. When she left, he was young, but he can remember how horrible his days were vividly. He'd rather not. That's why he never tried to look for her.

She drops the subject immediately, probably seeing it on his face that he doesn't like thinking about his mom. "What happened to the person you hurt?" she asks him.

He groans at the thought of him. "He's still got the scar on his neck, but he's fine. He was fine enough to tell the whole school what happened. He's still wearing that scarf he used to wear to hide it." A thought flits through his mind, and he wants to dismiss it, but he knows he has to ask. "If I said he was dead, would you hate me?"

He's praying she doesn't say yes, praying she doesn't say something like "it was a long time ago, you're different now," because he knows how close he'd been to killing Juan Corrida. If she thinks he's different, she's wrong, and... she should hate him. She shouldn't be with him. "I'd be sad, but it's the same sadness I feel when I used to think about how you got your scars. I love you. I fell in love with you a long time ago. I can't undo that."

She strokes his face and kisses his right eye again.

"You don't need to be so scared, Matt. I'm never going to leave you."

* * *

They invite less than twenty people to their wedding, most of them from her side of the family. She ends up doing most of the planning, as much as he tries to help, because she's her and that's who she is. That's... who he fell in love with.

When his father is tying the bowtie he'd bought for him in his changing room, the door opens. His father covers his eyes immediately. "Papa-"

"You're not supposed to be here! He's here now!" his father whispers furiously, as if he'll somehow be unable to hear it in closer proximity to him than the person he's whispering to. His dad can be really weird sometimes...

"It's only a superstition, Mr. Santos. I want to speak to him," she says. "Is that okay?"

His father uncovers his eyes and grumbles, "It's _your_ wedding." After a second, he hears the door open and shut. He must have left.

When he turns around to look at her, he thinks that she looks like an angel, even though - she'd kill him if he told her this - he still thinks she looks best in that dress she used to wear when he took her out to dinner.

About that dress... They've really come far, haven't they? Now that he's seeing her in a wedding dress, like this. It means a lot more, he guesses, than that little red thing. He might've fallen in love with her in the red dress, but this is the one that means he gets to keep her. And she... really is beautiful in it; even if it doesn't hug her curves the same way as the other one, he knows it's not supposed to.

"You look perfect," he breathes as she walks up to him.

"You almost do," she replies, and he's thinking about how that's pretty harsh and wishing she'd at least be nice to him on a day like this when she stands on her toes and slicks his hair back. "There. Now you're perfect."

He kisses her then, even though he knows he's supposed to wait until later.

* * *

romcom credits pt 2:

\- After their weird connection at the movie premiere, Will Powers becomes like a second mostly absent but well-meaning father figure to Matt. When he calls him for advice about Adrian, he never has to update him on the situation because he already knows.  
\- Similarly, Adrian connects weirdly to Pearl at the premiere and starts feeling inexplicable motherly feelings she's never felt about children before. This is because Pearl is her ideal child: basically a small adult.  
\- The red dress that "hugs her curves so well" is literally a size too small for Adrian. She found it on the clearance rack. It fits her, but a size bigger would fit her better. This is why she judges Matt so hard.  
\- Will, Phoenix, Maya, and Pearl all go to the wedding because Will was like, "Hey, can I bring my friends?" and Matt didn't want to straight up be like "no." He meant to ask Adrian to do it, but he forgot, and they all show up to the wedding and immediately realize that they should not be there. They stay for the food.  
\- Matt invites Juan to the wedding because he doesn't have that many friends and he wants to mess with him. Juan comes to the wedding because he doesn't have that many friends and wants to mess with him. Adrian lets it happen because she's the one who agreed to marry him, anyway.  
\- Shoedinger's Cat lives on. Or perhaps I should say "exists and simultaneously does not exist on."  
\- I'm confirming Matt becoming US President now. He does indeed become the president when he's old enough. I mean… Ronald Reagan did it.  
\- Matt's father _is_ actually a good father, or he at least does his best. They don't say "I love you" a lot or ever, but he's the one who teaches Matt how to pretend be sweet and innocent and he doesn't hide that he cares about him. It's a rough-around-the-edges thing, but they care about each other. Matt parallels Adrian to his mother in his story, but her relationship with him has more in common with the one between him and his father.  
\- Matt's mother was locked out of his life by his father, so he really isn't perfect. She's not a bad person and she definitely wasn't wrong when she tried to take Matt to therapy, but it messed Matt up badly and he can't see her as anything other than a villain.

* * *

author notes:

\- This took seven years to write but it was worth it. My children have all their problems resolved and they're married now. I'm crying...  
\- Honestly, I don't even like married-ever-after endings because they can be cheesy and they're too far off for someone like me to understand or relate to, but I thought these two deserved guaranteed stability. I'd love to write an epilogue but honestly, any farther from this is Too Far for me.  
\- I really, really want to write more for these two. If you're interested, keep an eye out. I may even try to find a way to get them together in canon, but that's ambitious even for me, who created this relationship from nothing. Let's see what happens, though.  
\- Please leave a comment if you can or hit me up on tumblr at morphigenetic. I need to yell at someone about my obscure OTPs.  
\- Thanks for reading! This is the longest fic I've ever written and first fic I completed that wasn't a oneshot, so I'm pretty proud.


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